I 


« 


4 


I • 


1 




5 ^ : / 




:• : ■! t . ' i ;. ► ‘ j ‘ -J • 

'. j, ' ‘ . * . * . 

> r *, I*.. * .1 


' 1 » . 

• I 


% 




'v‘ '* , ' * • 4 * . >' 

•• - • -I 


;, ^ :>' ! '• > ‘ *'(’**. *'■/■'■• v'-' ^*' ■•• /*•'■ V * ■ .V; . r .■: •' ..• 

. .,u ■' 1-: .'-> ..■.■*) J ',■.■•■;!; 

• 1 » • ’ ^ V *“.'. ♦’!'■■» 4- v*:‘ .• . ^ ■ . . . ;, ' •> 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 


. 3 ©npjjrig!^ 

Shelf K 


UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




I ' • 


♦ I • 


<* » ^ ‘ * 



. T \ t * ♦*. ;rp^ 

’.wria 





t' t 


'iO 


.^L» -V 



\ * 




r 



•* I 


v:v’ 



T ' 


m 


■:'^' 








*«» 



•. *■* » 


■ 




iMk'^ 


iV- 




y 




i-^- 





( « 


V‘ 


■ ,<• 


. ' 


<>4 


• I 


* ' i 


ami 


/.' - i 


I \ 


V 






V v k* 


.V 


't; 






m 






w. 


1 *. 




■tn.. 














4 * 




.1 . i 

. t 


V 


A^t[i'tV}'.- M 



V 

» *. 


if’ 

M- 


k ( 




.i 


s » 


> * • i ^ 


«* 5 f ■'■' _-■•■/ - -■■•;/ ■ 




•I > 


>« 


' ; . - 
.•'■>: ■ ^.’'S ‘ . ,v 


r ' . . 

' ';■ • • M . 

• \ 




% > 






.V 


' • » A. / » 




vN 






.*»♦ 







.■!'\u 'i^ 


■ * ' . 

\ t 


'• I 


» 

« • 




V i'*.’ '^YjWXif’W •' .‘ ‘‘’tTi’ .' • L>‘ ‘ i*4 " ■ W/' i 



• 4 



4 


sV » 




» \ 






• P 


$ 


A 





4 


\ 


» ^ 


. f 


4 




4 


\ 

t t 

t 


5 





« 




I 


f-' i'/: 


< A'. 


» 


fC 


V. 







1 


« 

t 


y 

•i 


-\ 


V 



r 


♦ P 


I 




I 






P 


0 


V>. 




' * ''..I*'' 


t* * 

V" . 

: 


* \* 


wt 

• A * 


i V 




' • J 


< 




• 4 •• 


i ,/ 


1 - 


r 

i 




•r 

4 














•* 


. (h 

' I< \ % 


I ^ ' •> 

*- 7 • 

■•* --Vi 


# 4 



4 

.f 




,v- 

i ^ • 


». 


I I 


• V 

’t- • 


•' '1. 

•,- At.' '.* s' 

*i ty . ' >•*• ’f' ‘A 


' ••Vi* 





^ ‘ , *'4 k 

■ , .'i ■ '•'' •' 



iS 


MS9 


^ • J. hA 

» '. ^ • 

•'' • \ , 


^ * > 


1 . t - 




h 

I 


. 












.. ».I 




"'vv . . •* ■ : 



T 



T Jl 


.1 



■W"v- s 




\n 


i>- 

.M- S • -'TV /• 



r ' l ^ ;.\ • ', f ■ . 1 >. 




M 


« I 


< I 



^ . 


• I 



1 ^ • 


•if&lfe' 


* I 



•' «..' '• V * j ' 


^•. '/■ 


•( • 




A V 


•■j 


.:fi . 


.•■ i 



iMiiA 


■> V'r i.*-. '■ «' 


. vA ^ • 




). r .- 


jV 


^ • 


t ' . 






■ ■-« ' ■ • J 

U ' t ,. 


.•* 


n •v; 

* ». .' ' * 





• • 


•«s 


» ••. 


‘-'- •v ■> 


.» . 


i» •^:- 








«lf 


</*! 



'•*^ ■ ' i ' 

J ';/-:■■• - 3 ^' 


■::'V ■’-wl ' 


^.r^ 7 W/ *- 

• * .1 ^ V a 


. ■'. 


I •,'* ■ ■» .«• . 


» i 


^ i ■ i "- • ' i . • I 


ij 


. i ' 






• ■ , I • • . 


}* 


' V - 1 * * '• 


* V ’ 




Li 


• • 






TuSUC^TlOr/ Of ThM C^,STAf*J3^T(pLtTEB$<TyJRf 


RANDOM 




MAX ADELEB 


+ TO 1\N • W ■ 1, OVE 1, L . COAVPIVKY^ 

'■ - - ■ - - -^-g» <4. f. 1 £ 5TREI 





LOVELL’S ilfiRARYr-CATALOGUE. 


1. Hyperion, by H. W, Longfellow. .20 

3. Outre-Mer, by H. W. Longfellow. 20 

8. The Happy Boy, by Bj5inson....l0 

4. Ame, by BjOruson 10 

6. Frankenstein, by Mrs. Shelley... JO 
6. The Last of the Mohicans. . ; 20 

,7. Cly tie, by Joseph Hatton,. ...^.20 

8. The Moonstone, by CoHins/P’t Ij; 10 

9. ' The Moonstone, by Collins, P’tIL 10 

10. Oliver Twist, by Charles Dickens. 20 

11. The Coming Race, by Lytton.,..10 

12. Leila, by LoM Lytton 10 

13. The Three Spaniards, by Walker. 20 

14. TheTricks or the GreeksUnveiled.20 

15. L’Abb4 Constantin, by Haldvy..20 

16. Freckles, by R. F. Redd iff.. ..20 

17. The Dark Colleen, by Harriett Jay .20 

18. They Were Married! by Walter 

Besant and James Rice' 10 

19. Seekers after God, by B'arrar 20 

20. The Spanish Nun, byDeQ,uincey,10 

21. The Green Mountain Boys JIO 

22. Fleurette, by Eugene Scribe 20 

23. Second Thoughts, j Broughton, 20 

24. The New Magdalen, y Ccnlins..20 

25. Divorc^by Margaret Lee 20 

26. Life of Washington, by Henley. .20 

27. Social Etiquette, by Mrs.Saville.iS 

28. Single Heart and Double Face.. 10 

29. Dene, by Carl Detlef 20 

80. Vice Versa, byF. Anstey 20 

8T, Ernest Maltra vers, by LordLytton20 
82. The Haunted House and Calderon 

the Courtier, by Lord Lytton.. 10 

33. John Halifax, by Miss Mulock. .20 

34. 800 Leagues on the Amazon 10 

35. The Cryptogram, by Jules ^'jrne.lO 

36. Life of Marion, by Horry 20 

87. Paul and Virginia ....10 

S8. Tale of Two Cities, by Dickens.. 20 
89. The Hermits, by Kingsley 20 

40. An Adventure in '5'hule, and Mar- 

rii^ge of Moira Fergus, Black .10 

41. AMarrlagein PighLife 20 

42. Robin, by Mrs. Parr. . . .20 

43. TwoonaTower, by Thos. H,ardy.20 

44. Rasselas, by Samuel Johnson.. ,.10 

45. Alice; or, the Mysteries, being 

Part 11. of Ernest Maltravcrs,. 20 

46. Duke of Kandos, by A..Mathey...20 

47. Baron Munchausen. 7 ..iO 

48. A Princess of Thule, byB’ack..20 

49. The Secret Despatch, by Grant, 20 

60. Early Days of Christianity, by 

• Canon Fafrrar, D D , Parti. 20 
Early Days of Christianity, Pt.T1.20 

61. Vicar of Wakefield, by Goldsmith. 10 

62. Progress and Poverty, by Henry 

George .20 

63. The” 'Spy, by Cooper . a 20 

64. Ea^t Lynne, by- Mrs. W00&...2O 

65. A Strange Story, by Lord Lytton... 20 

66. Adam Bede, by Eliot, Parti 15 

Adam Bede, Part II. 15 

67. The Golden Shaft, by Gibbon, i;. 20 

68. Portia, by The Duchess.';. 20 

69. Last Days of Pompeii, by Lytton. .20 

60. The Two Duchesses, by Mathey. .20 

61. Tom Brown’s SchoeJ . Days, . , . .20. 


62. The Wooing O’t, by Mrs. Alex- 


ander, Parti...... ..15 

The Wooii.g O’t, Part II 15 

63. The Vendetta, by Balzac 20 


64. Hypatia, by Chas. Kingsley, P t 1, 15 
Hypatig, by Kingsley, Bart 1 .... 16 

65. Selma, by Mrs. J. G. Smith ... .16 
66- Margaret and, her Bridesma ds. .20 

67. Horse Shoe Rbbinsoif, Part I. ...16 
. Horse Shoe Robinson, Part II. . .16 

68. GulTiver’s Travels, by Swif /.. . . .20 

69. Amos Barton, by George Eliot... 10 

70. The Berber, by W. E. Mavo .9'j 

71. Silas Marner, by George Rliot. . lO 

72. The Queen of the Cbtinty 20 

78, Life oftfCromwelL by Hood... 15 

74. Jane Eyre, by Charlotte Brontd.20 

75. Child’s History of England 20 

76. Molly Bawn, by The Duchess, . .20 

77 Pillone, by William BergsOe 15 

78. Phyllis, by The Duchess 20 

•79. Romola, by Geo. Eliot, Part I. . . 15 

Romola,15y Geo. Eliot, Part II. .15 

80. Sciencein Snort Chapters 20 

81. Zanonl, by Lord Lytton 20 

82. A Daughter of Hetb 20 

83. The Right and Wrong Uses of 

the Biblfe, R. Heber Newton. . ,20 

84. N'ght and Morning, Pt. 1 15 

Night aiiS Morning, Part IT 15 

8.5. Shandon Bells, by Wm. Black. .20 
88, Monica, by thb Duchess. 10 

87. Heart and Science, by Collins... 20 

88. The Gqlden Calf, by Braddpn.. .20 

89. The Dean’s Daughter.’ 7,... 20 

90. Mrs. G^offre^, by 3heDuch(’68..20 

91. Pickwick Papers, Part 1 20 

PickwijCk Papers, Part 1 1 20 

92. Airy, Fiairy Lilian, The Duchess. 20 

93. McLeod or Darq, by Wm. Black. 20 

94. Tempest Tossed, by Tilton P tl 20 
Tempest Tossed, by TiltOn, P'tll 20 

96. Letters from High Latitude's, by 
Lord Dufierin 20 

96. Gideon Flevce, by Lucy... 20 

97. India and Ceylon, by E; Haeckel. .20 

98. The Gypsy Queen 20 

99. The Admiral’s Ward 20- 

100. b import, by E. L. Bynncr, P’t I . . 15 

Nimport. byE. L. Bynner, P’tII.15 
lOL Harry Holbrooke. 20 

102. Tritons, by E.L. Bynner, P’t I. . .l.^> 
Tritons, by E. L. Bynm'r , P t II . . 15 

103. Let Nothing You Dismay, by 

Walter Besant. '. . : 10 

104. L^y Audley’s Secret, by Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

105. Woman’s Place To-day, by Mrs. 

Lillie Devereux Blake... T. 20 

106. Dunallan, by Kennedy, Parti, . ,15 
Dunal^n, by Keniicdy, Part II. .15 

107. Housekeeping and Home-mak- 

ing. by Marion Earl and 15 

lOS. .No New Thing, by W. E. Norris. 20 

109. The Bpoopendyke Papers 20 

iJO.'False Hopes, by Goldwin Smith. 15 

111. Labor ai.d Capital 30 

112. Wanda, by Onida, Part 1 15 

,..7, - Wandaf by Ouida, Part II .16 


Random Shots 





MAX ADELER, 

A 

AUTHOR OF ELBOW ROOM,” ** OUT OF THE HURLY-BURLY,” ETC. 










WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS' BY 

ARTHUR B. FROST. 






NEW YORK: 

JOHN/W. LOVELL COMPANY, 

e 

V 14 AND 16 Vesey Street, 






i 4- * - 


•j 


w 




! 


# A'b 










O' 


N 


'V- <b 


Copyright, i 878, 

SY CHAS. HEBER CLARK, 


i •> 




■ 9 ' 

le ■ 


. < T O 

/ ■ ' ; 


X 


- S:* 


« 




* 


4 



PREFACE. 



,HIS volume of stories and sketches is 
offered to the public with a confidence 
born of the fact that the two books which 
preceded it from my pen, “Out of the 
Hurly-Burly ” and “ Elbow-Room,” have been 
sold in numbers so large as to leave no room 
for doubt that they have been received with 
favour. That this unpretentious worlr will prove 
equally popular is a reasonable expectation, for some 
portions of its contents are at least equal in meritr 
and in attractiveness to lovers of honest fun, to the 
best that may be found between the covers of its 
predecessors. Doubtless, also, it has its full share of 
faults ; but if these are forgiven by generous readers 
as readily as others have been in the past, I shall 
have no reason to complain that I have been treated 
with unkindness. 


6 


PREFACE. 


It is only fair to say to the reader of the Mormon 
story in this volume that if he is r?Jfended of Artemus 
Ward by a phrase which alludes to a number of 
hearts “ beating as one,” he cannot excuse me upon 
the theory of unconscious plagiarism. I took the 
idea deliberately, because it exactly suited the place 
into which it was put. 

MAX ADELER. 




CONTENTS, 



■ 

r . 


The Tragedy of Thompson Dunbar 

Mr. Skinner’s Night in the Underworld. 

Miss Hammer’s Lovers 

The Glee Club Tournament 

How Jack Forbes was Avenged.. 

Jerome_^,Pinnickson’s Mother-in-Law 

Professor . Quackenboss. 

Babies 

The Shoals Lighthouse 

Mr. Fisher’s Bereavements 

The Adventures of Abner Byng 

Mr. Toombs, the Undertaker..... 

Miss Wilmer’s Adventure 


PACK 

9 

v57 

107 

167 

183 

:203 

227 

242 

254 

273 

284 

301 

314 








(By the Same Author. 


ELBOW-ROOM. 

A. NOVIDL WITHOUT A. UUOT. 

UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME. 

Price in Paper, 75 Cts. ; in Cloth, $1.25. 

ILLUSTRATED BY A. B. FROST. 



“A perfect specimen of American humor.” — ArthuVs Magazine. 

*** Possesses all the charms and none of the faults of humorous books. 
— Burlington (Iowa) Hawkey e. 

” Elbow-Room ” contains a good deal of wholesome nonsense, sparkling 
fun, and comical illustrations.” — Chicago Advance. 

It sparkles all through with the freshest and happiest humor. — In- 
telligencer, Lancaster, Pa. 



cf li|omjtS0n Jlitnliar. 

4 

CHAPTER I. 

THE ELOPEMENT, 

ALT LAKE CITY; the Mormon capital! Let 
•^1 us look at it. It lies deep in the valley, in a 
valley which is six thousand feet above the 
level of the sea. To the right, to the left, to the north, 
the south, the east, and the west, mountains ! 

Some near, some far. Some mighty, some dwarfed 
by contrast with the greater. A serrated chain of hills 
filling the whole horizon and outlining their dusky sum- 
mits clearly against the pure blue of the sky. From 
among them the Twin Peaks rise, boldly and grandly, 
seventy-five -hundred feet above the valley, and stand in 
hoary grandeur, their snow-clad tops the reservoirs from 
which the plain draws inexhaustible supplies of cold and 
limpid water. The plain itself, a wide stretch of sandy 
earth, partly cultivated, but . almost wholly covered upon 


lO 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


this August day with myriads of gleaming golden sun- 
flowers, which to him who takes a bird’s-eye view, seem 
a garb altogether glorious. Lying in the midst of it, the 
city. 

America has no other like it. Surveyed from a 
distance it wears a distinctly Oriental appearance. So 
we of the Far West who have only dreamed of the East, 
imagine how Damascus may look. White houses shin- 
ing amid rich masses of green foliage. A dome, a tower, 
a spire, that may answer for a minaret, deep gardens, 
buildings with flat roofs, a faint mist of dust marking the 
Hne of a travelled street, a sky of more than Oriental 
softness overhead, and an atmosphere so pure that to 
breathe it is luxury, and to look through it is to. gain such 
power of vision that the peaks of the Wasatch range, 
twenty miles away, seem within reach of the pedestrian 
who has five minutes to spare. r . , 

In the city there are broad streets covered with gravel. 
Upon each side where the gutter should be, there is a 
stream of pure and delicious water hurtling fiercely along 
with the impetus gained at the top of the Twin Peaks. 
The dwellings of stone, of wood, of adobe or sun-burned 
bricks, are far apart and enshrined among mighty trees. 
Shops, here and there, thrust themselves out to the edge 
of the footway, and offer their wares to the passers-by. 

It is a queer throng that is thus tempted. Such a 
one as ho other street in this broad earth can gather. 
Here is a Mormon saint, a patriarch with twelve wives, 
and so many children that he is compelled to refer to his 
memorandum book for a ^ list of them. Stout, rugged, 
coarse in nature and feature, he is of the kind that found 


THOMPSON DUNBAR, 'll 


his valley a wilderness and transformed it into a luscious 
garden. There is a Utah Indian, clad perhaps in a stove- 
pipe hat, a blanket, and buckskin breeches. He wears 
huge earrings, long straight hair, thick, and as black as 
midnight. Here is a Mexican — dashing along at break- 
neck speed, upon a shaggy pony. He wears a dress 
as picturesque as that of a Greek, and he is as fine a 
horseman as the Arabian desert knows. There go two 
army officers, wearing blue coats, and looking as if they 
were in authority. They hie to the camp upon the hill 
side, from whence the guns that they control can level 
the city in a day. Gentile miners, with fierce whiskers, 
broad hats, trousers tucked in- boots, and pistols thrust in 
belts, swagger about in search of firewater; Mormon 
policemen, quiet, reserved, but keen as hounds, stand 
upon the corners. Huge waggons drawn by six, and 
eight, and ten mules come lumbering down the street, 
bringing from outlying settlements of the saints the tithes 
for the Prophet’s storehouse. Hurrying past them, dash 
graceful and elegant pleasure carriages such as Hyde 
Park might be proud of. But. where are the women ? Of 
men there are enough. Now and then a Gentile woman 
passes, but not often ; and the Mormon women appear 
still less frequently. It is Orientalism in the extreme 
Occident. There is the polygamy of Turkey with an 
approach to the custom which keeps the woman under 
a veil. It is a strange city, a new city, born within the 
last half century ; a city of its own kind ; a city that is as 
striking, as novel, as interesting, as unprecedented to the 
view of the American who lives east of the Rocky Moun* 
tains, as it is to that of the citizen of London, 


12 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


To begin with. We have to do with a large white 
adobe structure, which stands upon the eastern edge of 
the town, in the midst of a garden, wherein are trees that 
overtop the roof, and grass that is gemmed with flowers. 
It is Mrs. Ballygag’s Boarding School for young ladies. 
Two young men meet at the gate. We recognize them 
as young Mormons. One is Thompson Dunbar; the 
other is Arbutus Jones. Arbutus is speaking. 

“Yes, sir; I shall marry them ; clean out the schools 
I have had a special revelation ; the entire senior class 
has been sealed to me, and I am going to marry the two 
other classes so as to make a complete job of it” 

“But the senior and junior classes have engaged 
themselves to me,” replied Dunbar. “ I proposed to them 
yesterday, and they said that they could love me alone.’^ 

“ Can’t help that,” said Jones ; “ I have arranged the 
matter with the Prophet and the parents. The entire 
concern has been offered me in marriage, and I am now 
on my way to see Mrs. Ballygag, and to get her to wind 
up the term and graduate them at once.” 

“ This is maddening ! ” exclaimed Dunbar. “Jones, 
the affections of those classes have been given to me — 
their young hearts are mine. What right have you to 
come in and trample rudely upon the holiest emotions of 
your fellow-creatures ?” 

“The best of rights, in this case,” said Jones. “It 
has been revealed to me that my duty is to annex this 
boarding-school It is a sacred obligation. There is not 
a bit of use, you know, Dunbar, in your kicking against 
the decrees of the church.” 

“ But you don’t want the whole thirty-two of them ? ” 


THOMPSON DUNBAR. 


“Yes, sir; I want them all. I claim them as my 

bride.’* 

“ I love them all dearly,” said Dunbar ; “ but sooner 
than have any fuss I’ll let you pick sixteen, if you’ll leave 
me the rest.” 

“No; I shall take them all. But I don’t know; 
maybe, I might agree to leave you the one with warm 
hair and freckles. My heart, somehow, doesn’t throb 
wildly for her.” 

“ Never ! ” exclaimed Dunbar. 

“ Oh, very well, then. Let her alone. I’ll pool her in 
with the rest.” 

The eye of Thompson Dunbar flashed fire. Step- 
ping up to Arbutus Jones, he whispered fiercely in his ear : 

“ You think you will marry this school. Never ! 
never ! I swear it I My faith is pledged to the women 
of my love, and they shall be mine. Mark what I say 1 
I shall make them my wife ! ” 

Arbutus Jones, opened the gate, and, turning away 
with a light laugh, he said, “ Dunbar, don’t talk like an 
idiot,” and then he walked up to the porch, pulled the 
door-bell, and called for Mrs"". Ballygag. 

Thompson Dunbar sauntered sadly down the street, 
meditating upon his plans. Secretly he entered his office, 
and writing thirty-two letters, he dispatched them through 
the post, and then went towards the livery-stable. 

Midnight came. Dark, cold, and silent. The belated 
wayfarer, walking into town, was startled to perceive, 
rushing by him in the gloom, a man, who seemed to be 
carrying a coil^ of rope upon his arm. Behind him eight 
carriages proceeded slowly, and with little noise. 


14 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


** A midnight funeral procession,” the traveller thought. 

The man stopped in front of Mrs. Ballygag’s mansion. 
The carriages halted by the kerbstone, a hundred yards 
below. The man opened the gate noiselessly, and walked 
quickly around to the side of the house. He uttered a 
low whistle, and a sash in a second-story window was 
carefully raised. He flung toward it the end of a rope, 
which was seized and hauled until a ladder of rope 
stretched from the window to the ground. 

“ Come, dearest said Thompson Dunbar, in a loud 
whisper. “ Do not be afraid. I will catch you if you fall.” 
Then the form of a lithe and graceful girl emerged from 
the window, and glided slowly, but easily down the frail 
ladder. Then another descended. Then another, until 
thirty-two lithe and graceful girls had reached the ground. 
As they came, Thompson Dunbar clasped them one by 
one in his arms, and kissed them fervently, pointing the 
way to the carriages. 

The last one whispered in his ravished ear that the 
thirty-two trunks were standing, ready packed, in the 
chamber above, and that Thompson had better see to 
getting them down. But the idea did not seem to strike 
Thompson. He asked himself what love had to do with 
trunks ? He thought how little pure affection cares for 
material things. He knew that he was ready to die for 
his darlings. That would be heroic. But to carry thirty- 
two trunks down a rope-ladder, he considered, in the 
strictest sense, a prosaic performance. Did Romeo 
shoulder Juliet’s trunk ? Did Paul take Virginia upon one 
arm, and her trunk upon the other ? Did Petrarch inter- 
rupt his sweet converse with Laura with struggles with 


THOMPSON DUNBAR, 


15 


her luggage? Rethought not. Let the trunks remain 
as a souvenir with Mrs. Ballygag. He gloated over the 
thought that she and Jones would weep tears of anguish 
and helpless rage over those leathern receptacles. 

V He went toward the carriages. They were all filled, 
and the doors were closed. He mounted upon the seat 
with the driver of the foremost one, and said 

“ Drive like mad, now ! Forty dollars extra for you, 
if you reach Ogden by daylight ! ” 

The vehicles dashed onward swiftly through the night. 
Over rough roads, down through canons, through dense 
forests, over mighty hills, along the brow of more than 
_ one precipice ; scaring the fox and the rabbit that lay in 
the path ; waking the echoes of the passes, and defying 
the winds which blew in gusty blasts from the mountain 
tops. 

It was a long and difficult ride. It would have been 
tedious for Thompson and his bride, but for the thought 
that each moment brought them nearer to the wedded 
bliss which is the holiest joy that has ever sweetened 
human life. 

The day was faintly breaking over the summits of the 
Wasatch range when the procession entered Ogden. 
Thompson ordered his companion to drive at once to the 
house of Bishop Potts. The Bishop’s dwelling showed 
no signs of life. He was asleep with his family— at that 
early hour. Thompson rang the door- bell fiercely. The 
Bishop’s grey head was thrust from the window. 

Who is making all that racket down there ? ” he said 
What’s the matter? What do you want ? ” 

** It’s I, Thompson Dunbar ! I’ve run over from the 


i6 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


city to be married. Hurry down and perform the cere- 
mony, please 

“ Can’t you get married at some less unearthly hour 
than this ? I’ve been up all night with the twins and 
sixteen others of the children, and four of Mrs. Potts' have 
not had a wink of sleep, and here you come routing us 
out just as we are dozing off ! I’ll marry you after break- 
fast. There is no hurry about it, I reckon.” 

But there is a hurry though. I’ve eloped with Mrs.. 
^allygag’s boarding school. It loved me, and they 
Granted to marry it to another man, Arbutus Jones, you 
know ; so it fled with me. We are bent on instantaneous 
consolidation I ” 

“ How many of her are there?” asked the Bishop. 

“ Only thirty-two.” 

“ And you’re single ?” 

«Yes.” 

“ Very well. That’ll do to begin with, but a man 
of your standing must disembowel a couple more 
boarding schools if you want to hold your own in the 
church 1 I’ll come down and see what J can do for 
you.” 

Thompson helped his bride to alight, and a most charm- 
ing picture she presented, standing there in a row in the 
early morning light, blushing with modest joy beneath the 
smiles and caresses of her devoted lover. While she 
waited for the Bishop she engaged in a simultaneous 
arrangement of her back hair. Thompson thought she 
had never appeared so lovely as when, holding the front 
strands in her mouth, the whole thirty-two of her t\^isted 
up her tresses, and inserted her combs fti them. 


THOMPSON DUNBAR. 


1 !. 


A moment later the front door opened, and the Bishop 
appeared in dressing-gown and slippers. 

Mr. Dunbar ushered the bride into the Bishop’s draw- 
ing-room, and seated her upon the sofas and chairs. 
Then he drew the Bishop aside. 

“ By the way, Bishop, what are you going to charge ? 
What are your rates ? * 

“ Well,” said the Bishop, smiling, “ where there is only 
one couple my regular fee is two dollars. But of course 
I allow a discount on wholesale transactions. I’ll tell you 
what I’ll do. Seeing that you are a young man, and 
evidently in earnest in your efforts to start properly in 
life. I’ll put you the whole lot in at forty-five dollars. 
How’s that?” 

“ Reasonable, very reasonable, indeed,” said Thomp- 
son. 

“ Stand up, my dear,” said the Bishop to the bride. 

The bride stood up in a semicircle, while in the 
doorway gathered seven or eight of the Bishop’s wife, t© 
witness the impressive scene. 

Thompson Dunbar then advanced, and taking from 
the pocket of his coat tail a quarter of a peck of gold 
rings he put them in his hat and handed them to the 
Bishop, who began the service. 

“ Thompson Dunbar, you take these women for your 
wedded wife? You promise to love, honour, and cherish?” 
etc., etc. 

Thompson Dunbar said, “ I do.” 

The Bishop, turning to the bride, said — 

“Emma, Henrietta, Louisa, Geraldine, Polly, Mary 

Jane, Matilda, Gertrude, Lucy, Imogene, Sally, Rebecca, 
2 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


l8 


Maria, Georgine, Hetty, Columbia, Martha, Caroline, 
Patty, Julia, Emily, Anastasia, Rachel, Sapphira, Ethel- 
berta, Hannah, Josephine, Bertie, Mignon, Patience, 
Agatha, Ann Jane— you take this man to be your wedded 
husband? You promise to love, honour, and obey?*”' 
etc., etc. 

And the bride said she did, and she would. 

Then Thompson, with gladness in his eyes, and >vild 
emotions in his bosom, took the hat from the Bishop and 
walked around the semi-circle of the bride, and placed 
the rings on her fingers. Then the Bishop pronounced 
them man and wife ; and Thompson started around 
the bridal curve again to clasp her in succession to his 
heart. 

He was just releasing himself from the twenty-sixth 
clasp when a wild tumult was heard in the street ; the 
noise of hurrying wheels, the quick tramp of horses, a 
crying of voices. The Bishop went to the casement to 
ascertain the cause of the tumult which disturbed the 
happy marriage festivities. Before he reached the win- 
dow the door was hurled open with violence, and' in 
rushed Arbutus Jones. Behind him was Mrs. Ballygag. 

Jones was white and breathless. Mrs. Ballygag panted," 
and brandished in a threatening manner a protuberant 
umbrella. 

“ Stop ! stopi” shouted Jones, as he projected himselt . 
into the room. ** Don’t go on ! I forbid the marriage ! ' 
these women are to be my wife! This man is a depraved 
villain! I command you, Bishop, not to perform the 
ceremony ! ” 

“ Don’t you dare to do it, you grey haired old mon- 


THOMPSON DUNBAR. 1 9 


ster !* shrieked Mrs. Ballygag, menacing him with her 
umbrella. “ You do it at your peril ! ” * 

“I think,” said the Bishop, serenely, “ you had better 
try to be cahner. Try to restrain your emotion, as the 
weather is too warm for violent excitement.” n. 

" Let ’em go on,” said Dunbar. It makes no differ- 
ence if they get their emotional thermometers up to a 
hundred and ten in the shade ; nobody cares.” - i 
“You don’t care, hey?” exclaimed Mrs. Ballygag, 
you don’t care I I’ll make you care if there’s any law in 
the land.' Coming round people’s houses with rope-ladders 
in the middle of the night, stealing their poor defenceless 
children ! I’ll see if you don’t care !” 

“ Children,* madam?” said the Bishop. 

“ Pretty tough children, these I” said Thompson, wav- 
ing his hand toward the bride. 

“ Yes, children,” replied Mrs. Ballygag, “ mere babes 
and sucklings. Getting married, you i baggage!” - said 
she, looking at the bride. “You’re in a nice condition 
to think about marriage! How dd you bound Nova 
Scotia ? Tell me this instant ! Don’t know ? I thought 
not! Don’t know how to bound Nova Scotia — don’t 
know that the Tropic of Capricorn is not one of the 
United States ; don’t know that the Peloponnesian war 
was not fought by negroes in Canada "West, and yet you 
consider yourselves fitted for the responsibilities of mat- 
rimony ! It’s simply too ridiculous to be discussed.” 

“ I am sorry, madam, that they are ignorant of the 
geographical facts connected with the Peloponnesian war, 
but we will try to be happy while we study them up to- 
gether.” 


20 


THE TEA GEE V OE 


“ You will never study them together,” remarked 
Arbutus Jones. “ These ladies return at once with me.” 

“ Certainly ! ” said Mrs. Ballygag ; “ they go back to 
school to-day. I shall put them on bread and water, and 
give them fifteen extra sums a-piece in Reduction of 
Compound Numbers.” 

“ They will not go back, I think,” said Thompson. 

“ We’ll see about that,” replied Jones. “ Girls, leave 
the room ! ” 

“ Don’t go ! ” said Thompson. 

“ Attend to your own business ! ” exclaimed Arbutus, 
fiercely. 

“ If you speak to me in that manner again, 111 throw 
you out of the window ! ” said Dunbar. 

“ Lay your hand upon me and you are a dead man,” 
replied Arbutus, drawing a revolver. 

“ Two can play at that game,” said Thompson, 
quickly drawing another. 

What the result might have been if the dispute had 
proceeded further C2in only be conjectured ; but as soon 
as the weapons were produced, the bride shrieked wildly, 
and the whole thirty-two her fell fainting on the floor, 
while Mrs. Ballygag collapsed, and embracing her um- 
brella, sank unconscious in the comer. 

For a moment, wild confusion prevailed; but the 
Bishop retained his presence of mind, and running into 
the garden, he seized a huge watering-pot, and bringing it 
in, he sprinkled the faces of the bride with water until 
one by one she revived. Mrs. Ballygag came to without 
assistance, and sat up looking the picture of distress. 

W’hen ail of the party .were restored, the Bishop said : 



“Two can play at mat game, said Thompson.— 20. 


22 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


“Let us have no more of these scenes! Mr. Jones, 
it is my duty to inform you that you have come 
too late. Mr. Dunbar is already married to these 
ladies.” 

“ Married ! ” shouted Jones. 

“ Married!” shrieked Mrs. Ballygag. 

“ Married,” replied the Bishop and Thompson. 

“This is infamous,” said Arbutus. “Dunbar, you 
have played me a scurvy trick. But I shall be even with 
you.” 

“You can have any satisfaction you want,” replied 
Dunbar. “But, I say, Jones, how about that revelation ? 
Crooked, wasn't it ? Didn't reveal so very much after 
all?” 

“We shall see!” exclaimed Jones ; and then smash- 
ing his hat down savagely upon his head, he left the 
room. 

Mrs. Ballygag began to cry. 

“ You have treated me shamefully,” she said. “ The 
last quarter's bills of these girls are not paid. I can't have 
any commencement ; the reputation of the school is 
ruined; and I am a poor lone widow- woman, with no- 
body to help me ! ” 

And Mrs. Ballygag sank down upon a sofa and sobbed 
violently. 

Then the bride began to cry also. It was altogether 
too melancholy for a wedding. The Bishop drew Thomp- 
son aside. 

“ Dunbar,” he whispered, “ you'll have to do some- 
thing for this woman. You must do the fair thing.” 

“ What do you recommend ? ” 


THOMPSON DUNBAR. 


23 


** Well, to tell the truth, if I were you, Td marry her. 
just throw her in with the rest, as a kind of job lot 
You might as well go the whole figure, while you*re 
at it'' 

I suppose I might. I'll take her." r 

“ ril charge you only twenty-five cents extra for tying 
the knot," said the benevolent Bishop. 

“ You propose it to her,” said Thompson. 

Mrs. Ballygag,” said the Bishop, “ how would you 
like to marry Mr. Dunbar, in' with the rest ? He says he 
is willing.” 

With a wild cry of joy, Mrs. Ballygag rushed forward 
and threw her arms about Dunbar’s neck and nestled her 
head in his bosom. 

“ Do you love me, Thompson ?” she asked, looking up 
at him. 

Well, yes ; that is, of course, as it were, to a— to a 
— to a certain extent ! Take your umbrella off my toe, 
please ; the pressure is too severe !” 

“ Then take me, take me !” she exclaimed. “ I’ll help 
you manage the girls.” f 

The girls looked as if they were not bursting with 
ecstasy ; but they wanted to be submissive to Thompson, 
and so they said nothing. 

Then Dunbar took Mrs. Ballygag by the hand, the 
Bishop began the ceremony, and in a few moments she 
was made a thirty-third of him. 


24 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


CHAPTER II. 

THE DEPARTURE. 

Upon the homeward journey most of the bride rode in 
the eight carriages, while the joyous groom occupied his 
former seat with the coachman of the foremost vehicle. 
The recent Mrs. BaUygag, however, was compelled by 
the want of room also to ride with one of the drivers. 
She entertained him during the journey by a cross-exami- 
nation, the purpose of which was to ascertain if, in his 
opinion, a horse is an adverb or a preposition, and if he 
knew how to multiply vulgar fractions. When he re- 
marked to her, ain’t got no use for a hymn-book,” she ' 
parsed the sentence for him, and showed him clearly how 
two negatives make an affirmative. 

'> Whenever his horses were disposed to go slowly, she 
prodded them savagely with the ferule of her umbrella, 
and sometimes when the portion of the bride which was 
riding in the carriage beneath her laughed too boiste- 
rously, she would reach over and push her umbrella in at 
the window two or three times to indicate her disapproba- 
tion of such scandalous behaviour. 

Altogether, it is believed that the late widow Ballygag 
enjoyed the trip exceedingly. But it is doubtful if the 
driver did ; and it is certain Thompson did not, at least, 
during the periods when they were passing along the 
edges of the precipices, and she was constantly scream- 
ing for him to come and save her from being dashed to 
pieces. 

At last, however, Salt Lake City was reached, and the 
bridal party was taken at once to Dunbar’s modest little 


7'HOMPSON DUNBAR. 


^5 


cottage. When'the bride had all dismounted and entered 
the drawing-room, Thompson whispered to the late Mrs. 
Ballygag that there were four of his wife to whom he had 
not yet been formally introduced, and he begged her to 
perform the ceremony. She did so, remarking at the 
same time to the girls— ^ i ■' 

“Your husband is a good and worthy man, and I want 
you to behave well towards him. I am going to keep an 
eye on you to see that you do it^ too 

The honeymoon passed blissfully. Thompson Dun- 
bar was by profession a sailor, and having no ship at this 
time he was at liberty to devote himself wholly to domes- 
tic life. He purchased new furniture for his house. He 
made a contract with the calico factory for permanent 
supplies of dress goods, and the factory at once put in 
extra looms and employed more hands. He bought bon- 
nets with a recklessness that threatened bankruptcy. He 
established relations with a candy manufacturer, which 
guaranteed him the few tons of chocolate drops that he 
required at lower rates than usual. In fact, he launched 
himself fairly and equally upon the sea of wedded life. " ' 
Wedded life ! Ah, how few of us understand those 
words as they came to Thompson Dunbar and his bride ! 
To how few have they so i rich and beautiful a meaning ! 
Many of us think that we have had sweet experiences 
within the sacred precincts of the home ; but not to many 
of us is it given to have thirty-four souls with but a single 
thought — thirty-four hearts that beat as one. The man 
who sits down with one wife by his hearthstone, and thinks 
he is happy, knows nothing of the tenderer joy of him who, 
around a hearthstone*twenty feet square, gathers thirty- 


26 


THE TRAGEDY OE 


two sweet faces (the recent Mrs. Ballygag was homely), 
and looks love into all of those eyes that speak again. 
Such a man has a nobler affection, a loftier aim, a purer 
ambition, a mightier impulse to dash into the struggle 
of life and win his bread. Who would not toil valiantly 
with thirty-three smiles waiting to welcome him home, 
and thirty-three hungry women to nourish "I 

Thompson Dunbar was proud, and he had a right to 
be. Never once in the early days of his married life did 
anything happen to cloud his domestic sky ; excepting, 
perhaps, on one occasion, when the relict of the lamented 
Ballygag hid the kitten in his boot and forgot to tell him 
about it ; and never did he have any doubts of the future 
excepting when he reflected upon the anguish he should 
suffer when his duty should call him away from those he 
loved. 

And the painful summons came at last He was 
ordered to join his ship at San Francisco. She was about 
to sail upon a three years’ cruise. Three years 1 It 
seemed intolerable to be separated so long from his dar- 
lings. Poor Dunbar! If he could have foreseen the 
trials that were in store for him ! 

The hour of parting arrived. Let us draw a veil over 
the scene. There are some things too sacred for the vul- 
gar eye ; some episodes in a man’s life, of which to speak 
lightly were a profanation. Mrs.'' Dunbar clung to him, of 
course. Ah, may none of us ever know the agony of such 
a farewell. May we never know what a husband suffers 
to whom thirty-three wives are clinging in desperate woe. 

He tore himself away I He was gone ! Gone ! And 
three groups of eleven each of heart-broken women sank 


THOMPSON DUNBAR. 


27 


upon the front steps and sobbed in bitter despair. Thee 
they flew to the windows and gazed after him, and waved 
their kerchiefs to him, excepting perhaps the aforetime 
Ballygag, who, in the violence of her emotion, waved 
a flannel petticoat which she had been mending. 

Little did they suspect what they should endure ere 
they looked upon that fond face again ! Life is so full 

of disappointments, so full of But, however, let us 

go on. 

Thompson Dunbar sailed away upon the bosom of the 
mighty deep. For some weeks all was well. The trea- 
cherous ocean held its powers in leash. One night there 
was a fearful tempest, and the gallant barque, after a pro- 
longed contest with the elements, sank to rise no more. 
All on board were lost ; all save one. Lashed to a spar 
Thompson Dunbar contrived to sustain himself in the 
seething foam for four days. Upon the morning of the 
fifth day he was cast upon a desert island. He crawled 
out of the reach of the waves and fell asleep. He slum- 
bered long, and when he awoke he released himself from 
the spar, and looked about him. He perceived that the 
island was small. It was only fifteen feet wide by thirty- 
eight feet long ; but Dunbar was satisfied with it. It was 
something for him to stand upon, to live upon. 

Feeling hungry, he walked out looking to find some- 
thing to eat. He discovered a bed of fine oysters in a 
little cove at the northern end of the island, and to his 
great joy he found that a huge hole in the rock contained 
a dozen hogsheads of rain water ! These things were so 
exceedingly fortunate that he felt sure of going through 
the regular round of desert island experiences. But m 


28 


THE TEA GEE V OF 


this he was, to a certain extent, disappointed. The oysters 
and water remained, of course, and now and then some 
sociable bird would call and leave an egg, but none of 
the usual desert island conveniences floated ashore. 

Thompson Dunbar remained upon the island for fifteen 
years ; but when his clothing began to wear out no vessel 
was wrecked upon an adjacent and handy reef, and all 
the crew drowned, so that he could have a fair chance at 
the chests which contained clothing that fitted him 
exactly. 

And no other ship was cast ashore into which he 
entered and found twenty bags full of Spanish doubloons, 
which he gazed at with proud contempt, while the thought 
occurred to him how useless such dross is, especially 
when you are on a desert island, with no possibility of 
spending it. 

And he did not find in the cabin of such a wreck 
double-barrelled guns and carpenter's tools, and canned 
fruits and vegetables, and such a general variety of useful 
and fancy articles as no ship ever included^ in a single 
cargo, excepting perhaps in cases where the purpose of 
the owners was to have been wrecked to oblige some 
Robinson Crusoe or other, and to make him fat and com- 
fortable. 

And when he felt lonely and longed for fellowship and 
the sweet communion of some kindred soul, it did not 
happen that a squad of chocolate-coloured cannibals 
dashed up in a canoe, and were all killed by a single 
explosion of a musket ; all save one, who fell at Dun- 
bar’s feet, and became his slave and his pupil and his 
riend. 


THOMPSON DUNBAR. 


29 


On the contrary, Dunbar had a particularly prosaic 
time upon the island ; eating and sleeping and walking 
about. After the first shock produced by his sense of 
isolation had passed, he surveyed the island and made a 
map of it. Then he took possession of it in the name 
of his government, and formally annexed it to the United 
States by hoisting a flag made of a felicitous combina- 
tion of his handkerchief and his red flannel shirt. In 
order to put in the time, and to give himself occupation 
congenial to an American, he held elections thrice a 
year, and he celebrated the 4th of July and Washington’s 
birthday, when they came around, by reading the Decla- 
ration of Independence, and singing the “ Star Spangled 
Banner. ** 

But his wife I Did he ever think of her ? Ah, yes ! 
The bitterness of that separation no tongue can tell. 
Often he would lie upon his back and take from his pocket 
the thirty-three miniatures and look at them with longing 
and tearful eyes. And he would get to wondering which 
was Emma, which was Rebecca, which Columbia, and 
which Sapphira. The lineaments of Ballygag were the 
only ones he felt certain about, but, somehow he never 
lingered very long over them. 

And he would ask himself if any of her ever thought 
much of him. He would wonder if she was all alive, or 
if, perchance, some of her counted him deadj- and had 
remarried. Perchance she had departed, sorrowful and 
broken-hearted, and only thirty-three little grassy mounds 
in the churchyard remained to mark the remains of her 
who once had been the joy of his life. 

It might be that if he should ever return home he 



Often he would lie on his back and take from his pocket the thirty- 
three miniatures and look at them ," — Page 29. 


THOMPSON DUNBAR, 


1 ! 

would find his cottage desolate, with no one to love, none 
to caress, and it would devolve upon him to begin life 
afresh by embezzling another boarding-schooh The 
thought was bitterness to him. Only those who have 
learned from a sad experience what it is to lose three 
and-thirty wives at a blow, can realize the depth and in- 
' tensity of the sufferings of this unhappy young man. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE VICTORY OF JONES, , 

Meantime, how did Mrs. Dunbar bear the bereavement 
that had come to her? For the first three or four years 
she was hopeful ; but gradually, as the time passed swiftly 
by, and no word came to her from the wanderer, she 
began to feel the growing agony of despair. 

Often she would go up as the evening shadows fell, 
and stand at each of the thirty-three windows, and gaze 
out toward the glowing west, straining all sixty-five of 
her eyes (Ethelberta had a cataract), to catch a glimpse 
of her Thompson. But, alas 1 Thompson did not come ; 
and as a feeling of deep sadness stole in over her souls, 
Mrs. Dunbar would bow her heads over the infants in her 
arms and weep. Perhaps she would wail out her woes in 
a plaintive lullaby, which was so distorted by her sobs 
that Ballygag’s former partner would stop long enough to 
scold her for singing flat, and not marking the dotted 
notes with sufficient distinctness. 

The misery of a suffering woman's heart ! Who shall 


32 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


sound it ? And what multiplication table can compass it 
where it is thirty-three times increased ? There are some 
conundrums that have to be given up at the outset. 

At last, however, she was forced to the conclusion that 
Thompson was dead. It was inevitable. The ship had 
never been heard from. No message had ever come up 
from the roaring sea, to tell the story of her destruction. 
She was gone ; and, without doubt, Thompson had gone 
down fathoms deep into the cruel waters with her. Mrs. 
Dunbar abandoned hope, and decided to mourn for him 
as one that had been called away to another life. 

As soon as her determination became known, and she 
began to falk about putting on mourning, the city mer- 
chants noted an advance of two per cent, in crape and 
black bombazine, and the bachelor Saints began to have 
revelations concerning their duty to persuade her from 
prolonging the period of her widowhood. 

Arbutus Jones was enabled to perceive with perfect 
clearness, what were his obligations in the premises. He 
made up his mind that the anguish of Mrs. Dunbar could 
be assuaged only by sweet words of consolation from his 
lips. He called early to offer his sympathies, and after- 
wards he would go around often in the evenings and talk 
with her about the virtues of the departed Thompson, for 
whom, however, it was impossible for him to feel any but 
a fictitious enthusiasm. 

After a while, he became more assiduous in his atten- 
tions, and he felt, reviving in his bosom, with all its vehe- 
ment force, the love he had for her when she was maid- 
ens. Often he would lead her forth in the twilight, and, 
while as many of her little hands as he could conveniently 



While as many of her little hands as he could conveniently hold, lay 
confidingly in his .’' — Page 32/ 


3 



34 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


hold, lay confidingly in his, they would stroll to some 
quiet, grassy dell, and she would arrange herself in a 
circle by the side of a babbling brook, while he sat in 
the centre, and whispered soft words of love to her, and 
walked around, and pressed each of her hands, and let 
the love light of his eyes shine on her faces, and warm to 
life the flickering flame in her hearts. 

One evening he proposed to her in a lump. He asked 
her to be his. The Ballygag was the first to speak. She 
said : — 

“Have you examined your heart, Arbutus? Do you 
love us truly?” 

“ Certainly ! Of course ! Most of you, anyway. How- 
ever, sooner than lacerate your feelings, I am willing to 
count you out, and permit you to cling to the memory of 
Thompson.” 

“ But Tm the one that can’t be coqnted out. If you 
love me, I am yours ! ” 

“ I am willing to sacrifice my love for your sake, to 
save your feelings.” 

“ You are too noble,” said the late Mrs. B. “ I cannot 
consent to such an act of heroic devotion upon your 
part.” 

“ I think you would be happier, maybe, without me. 
m start you in another boarding-school.” 

“ Loving heart ! And do you think I would be willing 
to accept such unselfish kindness, when I could not repay 
you by watching over you ? Never !” 

“And then you know,” said Jones, “ Dunbar might 
eventually turn up and it would be so comforting for him 
to have at least one of Jiis wives remaining to him. So 


THOMPSON DUNBAR. 


35 

upon the whole, perhaps, I had better let you float along 
as you are.” 

" Ah ! Arbutus ! I love you more than ever when you 
show yourself so ready to surrender your own joy for the 
good of others. Take me, oh take me to your fond 
bosom ! ” 

And the former Mrs. Ballygag fell towards him with a 
purpose to be folded to his heart ; but Jones, with remark- 
able presence of mind, pretended not to see her, and 
addressed himself assiduously to the task of assisting 
Sapphira to rise from the ground. Then the whole of 
Mrs. Dunbar rose, and retiring a little space, went into 
committee to consider the question. After an animated 
debate, during which the Ballygag gave her views the 
fullest and most generous expression, Mrs. Dunbar 
decided by a vote of twenty-nine to three (the woman 
with the cataract not voting) to become the wife of Arbu- 
tus Jones ! 

Jones learned the decision with transports. One by 
one his sweetheart was held in his fond embrace, as he 
kissed her and promised to be true to her ; and one by 
one, as she looked into his manly face and found there 
the radiant joy of pure affection, she was filled with trust- 
fulness and peace, and with him went back to her home 
full of blissful anticipations of a future which should com- 
pensate for all the suffering of the sorrowful past. 

Mr. Jones was very anxious to be married speedily ; 
but the widow, of course, pressed for such delay as would 
be necessary to enable her to prepare new outfits of 
clothing. There are always stirring times in the busi- 
ness of a community when a Mormon wife or widow 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


36 ^ 

begins to make a movement in the matter of clothes. In 
this case, the appearance of Mrs. Dunbar unexpectedly 
in the market, caused such a revival in trade, that the 
merchants began to buy houses and lots, and to set up 
carriages under the impression that a new era of pros- 
perity had begun. But eventually Mrs. Dunbar was 
ready, and the day was fixed. She expressed a preference 
for Bishop Potts, of Ogden, as the officiating clergyman, 
because she was used to him, and, of course, Jones asked 
the worthy Bishop to come over and tie the knots. 

The wedding attracted a good deal of attention in 
Salt Lake City. Jones sailed up the aisle of the temple 
with Sapphira and Ethelberta upon each arm, while fifteen 
of his best friends each convoyed two others of Mrs. 
Dunbar. The sexton brought up the rear with the ex- 
widow Ballygag, who honoured the occasion by turning 
out in a green bonnet with yellow ostrich feathers, a 
crimson poplin dress embroidered with blue, with a new 
false front upon her head, and with a look of beaming 
happiness bursting through her gold spectacles. 

The ceremony occupied but a few moments, and 
when the Bishop having made these thirty- four one flesh, 
the procession turned, passed down the aisle again, 
entered the carriages, and went to the home that was 
once DunbaPs, but now had come into the posses 6 ion 
01 Jones. 

Dunbar! how he would have been torn with agony if 
he, far away upon that lonely island of the sea, could 
have witnessed that scene in the temple ! But this tor- 
ture was mercifully spared him. At the moment when 
his loving wife was given to another by the Bishop, 


THOMPSON DUNBAR. 


37 


Thompson was splitting oysters open with his jack-knife, 
and thinking how uncommonly good they would be with 
horse-radish. No voice whispered the truth to him. 
No pangs of the heart interfered with the vigour of his 
gastric juice ! 

Of the domestic life which came to Arbutus Jones, 
with the golden days which followed the wedding, we 
need not speak. It passed away sweetly and brought 
him perfect contentment. But one day, a month or two 
after the marriage, Arbutus, upon his return home, found 
an elderly lady whom he did not know occupying a seat 
at his dinner-table. He thought at first it might be one 
of his wife, so he counted the row of her, and found that 
there were thirty-four women instead of thirty-three. A 
moment later Sapphira introduced the stranger as her 
mother. 

“ She has come to stay with us, Arbutus, dear, upon 
my invitation. I longed to have her with me, and I 
knew you would welcome her for my sake. Won’t you, 
darling ?” 

“ Oh, certainly ! Glad to see her ! Very glad I Of 
course. She is always welcome here!” 

But Jones did not look as if he were really glad. A 
dark foreboding entered his mind. The precedent was 
bad; it was dangerous. If this kind of thing began, 
where was it going to stop ? That was the question that 
he asked himself, with gloom in- his soul and a scowl 
upon his brow. 

Two days later Mary Jane’s mother arrived. Mary 
Jane said that she had invited her mother down to spend 
the summer, and to give her a chance to learn to 


38 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


her son-in-law. Arbutus forced a smile as he welcomed 
her, but it was not difficult to see that his mother-in-law 
would have to labour hard to induce him to return her love. 

The following week Ethelberta’s mother came, osten- 
sibly for the purpose of superintending an operation 
upon Ethelberta's cataract. But Arbutus saw plainly 
through the pretence. He was far too acute a man not 
to know that a woman who comes for the purpose of wit- 
nessing an operation upon a cataract is not necessarily 
accompanied by six trunks, elevep boxes, a bedstead, two 
bureaus, a sewing-machine, af^ooking-stove, a poll par- 
rot, and a cat. She had come to stay. He knew it, and 
he grated his teeth as he strove to bear it patiently. 

A month passed, and at intervals mothers-in-law con- 
tinued to arrive, until there was a sum total of twenty- 
one in Jones’s house. He began to grow desperate. 
One day he called the Ballygag aside. He asked her if 
she had a mother. She said she had not. 

Arbutus clasped her in his arms and kissed her 
tenderly. She was amazed. He had not been lavish of 
caresses with her. She asked for an explanation. He 
said — 

‘‘ 1 adore a woman who has lost her parents. Ah, 
Lucille !” (her name was Lucille), “ my only regret now 
is that you didn’t keep an orphan asylum instead of a 
boarding-school, when Dunbar eloped with your establish- 
ment.” 

As he spoke thus the door-bell rang. Lucille went out 
to see who was there. When she returned, she said the 
mothers of 'Columbia and Emma had just arrived with 
two waggon-loads of trunks and furniture 


THOMPSON DUNBAR. 


39 


Arbutus shuddered. 

“This is terrible, Mrs. Bally — Lucille, I mean. If 
this thing continues i shall go mad. I did not bargain 
for this. Twenty-three of them already — twenty-three 
mothers-in-law ! My reason will totter on its throne !” 

“ Yes,’^ said the former Mrs. B., “ and Henrietta and 
Sarah and Matilda told me that they had written this 
morning for their mothers to come on and live here ; and 
Sarah said she had invited one of her aunts also.” 

A spasm of pain flitted over the face of Arbutus Jones. 
He sat down upon a chair. Was the curse come upon 
him ? Were the fates preparing for him a scorpion whip 
of retribution for his destruction of Dunbar’s hopes of 
happiness? We cannot tell. Maybe We wouldn’t tell if 
we could. 

While he sat there trying to think what he should do 
to avert the calamity that was overpowering him, a ser- 
vant entered with a telegram. Jones tore it open and 
read it 

“ Wh — wh — what’s this ? * My dear son-in-law : Meet 
me at the train on Tuesday. I am coming to board with 
you for a few months. I am your affectionate mother- 
in-law.— ‘ Rebecca Fitler.’ 

“ Rebecca Fitler ! Who — what — which one’s she ?” 

“ She is Imogene’s mother. I know her well. She’s 
worse about a house than the whooping-cough. Quar- 
relled with her husband till she killed him,” said 
Lucille. 

“Ha? ha!” laughed Jones, fiercely. “Twenty-six 
mothers-in-law and an aunt I This is refreshing ! It is 
delightful I Lucille, I am beginning to feel murderous I 


40 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


If this kind of thing goes on I shall soon be in a frame 
of mind which will make indulgence in assassination 
seem like pastime.” 

“ Fm afraid it will go on/’ said the late Mrs. Bally- 
gag, looking out of the window ; “ I see Geraldine’s 
mother coming up the front yard with a carpet-bag and a 
band-box. She makes twenty-seven ! ” 

“ Twenty-seven and an aunt ! ” exclaimed Arbutus. 
“ Five more to hear from ! But we can rely upon them 
to come, I think, can’t we, Lucille ? May be Fd better 
write to them for fear they forget it ; ” and Arbutus 
laughed a wild, hysterical laugh. 

“ What are you going to do about it ? ” asked the late 
widow B. 

“ Do ? What am I going to do ? I am going to do 
something terrible ! Something desperate ! No man can 
stand this persecution ! I don’t mind having a couple of 
dozen or so of mothers-in-law around, but the line must 
be drawn somewhere, and I draw it at twenty-seven and 
an aunt.” 

“ You could get rid of them by obtaining a divorce,” 
said Lucille. 

“ No ; I shan’t do that. It’s too expensive. Besides, 
I don’t want to give up the girls.” 

“ Suppose you order the mothers to leave, and if they 
refuse force them from the house ? ” 

“Won’t do,” said Arbutus, shaking his head thought- 
fully. “You don’t know them. An army couldn’t put 
them out— an army rigged out with Krupp guns and 
battering rams. No, no ! We must resort to something 
more desperate.” 


THOMPSON DUNBAR. 


41 


** How would it do to put poison in their tea ?’^ 

“ I can’t see any profit in it. They’ll die. I’ll have to 
stand the funeral expenses, and may be pay the cost of 
the post-mortem examinations.’’ 

‘‘ Well, then, blow them up with gunpowder.” 

“ No, dear ; you must suggest something more practi- 
cable. The explosion would disfigure the furniture, and it 
would make old Partridge, the coroner, wild with joy, 
Lucille, I hate that man with bitter hatred ; and shall I 
do a thing that will give him thirty or forty inquests, and 
help him to pay off the mortgage on his house? Never, 
my dear, never ! ” 

** I don’t see how we can manage it, then,” said the 
Ballygag. 

“ Let me give you an idea,” said Arbutus. “ I have 
in my mind the outlines of a malignant plot, which will 
rid me of these women for ever. It is an awful thing to 
do, this that I propose, but the case is desperate ; I am 
driven to an extremity. Will you promise to help me in 
it?” 

"Yes.” 

" Do you know any of Mrs. Brigham Young.’’ 

" Oh, yes ; one of her went to school to me. She was 
the best girl I had at grammar. She could tell a participle 
as far as she could see it.” 

" Well,” said Arbutus, " I want you to go to see her. 
Tell her I will give her a thousand dollars if she will 
persuade the Prophet to have a revelation declaring that 
all my mothers-in-law must be sealed at once to Part- 
ridge, the coroner ! Will you ?” 

“ You must have a very deep grudge against Partridge.’ 


42 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


“ I have ! I want him to suffer. Will you go ?” 

“ I will ; and I think I can manage the matter for 
you. How about Sarah’s aunt ? ” 

“ Run her in with the rest ! Make it as hard for 
Partridge as we can. Give him the whole twenty eight.” 

“ I’ll go around at once,” said Lucille, and she left the 
room. 

A gleam of savage exultation shone from Jones’s eyes, 
as he thought of the probable completeness of his venge- 
ance. In an hour the Ballygag returned. It was all 
fixed. She had a promise that the order would be issued 
the next morning. 

Sure enough, next morning Partridge called, looking 
livid with rage. 

“Where,” said he to Jones, “are these preposterous 
old hags that you are trying to shove off on me ? Where 
are they ? Trot ’em out so’s I can see ’em.” 

“ See here, Partridge, I don’t want you to speak in 
that disrespectful manner of my wife’s mothers. What 
do you want to see them for ? ” 

“ Oh, you needn’t pretend you don’t know. I’m 
mighty certain you fixed this thing up against me. But 
I s’pose I’ve got to take ’em. So let’s see ’em.” 

The ladies filed in. Jones announced the news to 
them, as gently as he could. Six fainted on the spot. 
Ten simply screamed. Three said they’d die rather than 
marry a coroner. Three, and Sarah’s aunt, smiled, and 
said they considered it as, upon the whole, rather a good 
thing. 

“ Well, I don’t,” replied Partridge. “ To speak plainly 
you’re a discouraging-looking crowd. See here, you 


THOMPSON DUNBAR. 


43 


women who are screaming there, you needn’t carry on in 
that manner. You don’t want me any less than I want 
you I” 

“Partridge,” said Jones, “go about it with more 
suavity. You can’t possibly gain their afifection if you 
proceed in that manner. Woo them gently.” 

“ I don’t want any interference from you,” replied 
Partridge. “ Here, you women ! Get on your things, and 
come along. I’d commit suicide to get rid of you. 
if it wasn’t that I don’t want my successor to collect 
a fee for my remains. Come on now, and be quick 
about it.” 

Then the bride and groom filed out; Mrs. Jones, 
meantime, standing in a line in the hall weeping, while 
Jones kept his handkerchief to his eyes and chuckled. 

When Partridge reached the front gate, he turned 
around, and, shaking his fist at Jones, he shouted :~ 

“ You never mind ! I’ll pay you for this, old fellow ! ” 

And then the party proceeded to the temple, and soon 
was hopelessly bound in the chains of wedlock. 

Upon the departure of his wife’s mothers, Jones 
rubbed his hands, and, in a gleeful mood, danced about 
the room with the Ballygag. He was joyful. He had 
reason for joy. But there was a dire and awful retribu- 
tion preparing for him. The shadow of his doom was 
slowly creeping toward him. 


44 


THE TRAGEDY OE 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE RETURN. 

Fifteen years had elapsed since Thompson Dunbar 
tore himself away from his bride, and his happy home. 
Fifteen years had he dragged out a dreary existence 
upon his lonely rock in the midst of the sea. One day 
he saw a ship approaching the island, and he made frantic 
signals to attract the attention of those on board. Twice 
the ship seemed to turn away from him, but at last, to 
his great joy, his signals were answered, a boat was 
lowered, and in half-an-hour he stood upon the deck of 
“ The Golden Horn,” bound for San Francisco. 

The captain gave him a suit of clothes, and loaned hini 
some money ; and as soon as the vessel touched the 
wharf, a few weeks later, he leaped ashore, and took the 
first train for Salt Lake City. 

Imagine the alternations of hope and despair that 
distracted his mind ! Again and again he asked himself 
how he should find her. Would she be all alive and well, 
or partially dead ? Would his children be alive ? Would 
he find his home as beautiful as ever? Would he go 
there to obtain peace and joy, or to sufter pangs of 
terrible sorrow ? 

As he mused, the train entered the city. It was early 
afternoon. He thought he would go to the hotel and 
learn something of the truth, before he sought his cottage. 
It might be less terrible if he should be prepared be- 
' forehand. 

The landlord of the hotel did not recognize him. 


THOMPSON DUNBAR. 


45 


His bronzed and furrowed face, his shaggy hair and 
beard, his bent form, suggested nothing of the Thomp- 
son Dunbar who had gone away a decade and a half 
before, 

Thompson sought information from the landlord. 

“Did you know a man named Thompson Dunbar?” 
he asked. 

“ Yes, indeed ! Knew him well. He left here fifteen 
or sixteen years ago. He was a sailor, you know.” 

“ What became of him ? ” 

‘ Lost, sir, lost ! It’s supposed so, at any rate. No 
word ever came from him, or about him. His ship was 
wrecked, we know.” 

“ Was he married ?” 

“ Married ! Ah ! that’s just it, sir ! He was married 
to thirty-three of the loveliest girls in the city. A young 
and charming bride, and a swarm of the dearest children.” 

“ Did Mrs. Dunbar take it hardly ?” 

“ Indeed she did, sir ! Cried her eyes out, nearly. 
Went on at a most fearful rate. Everybody sympathized 
with her.” 

“Is she all alive yet ? ** 

“ Oh yes.” 

“ And well ? ” 

“ I believe so ; perfectly. She was the last time I 
saw her.” 

“ When did you see her ? ” 

“ Well, I haven’t seen her myself for several weeks ; 
but my book-keeper told me he saw three of Mrs. Jones 
out driving yesterday.” 

“ I was referring to Mrs. Dunbar,” said Thompsoa 


46 


THE TEA GEE V OF 


“ 1 know/’ replied the landlord ; “ I say my clerk saw 
three of her riding out.” 

‘‘ But you said he saw Mrs. Jones.” 

“Well, don’t I say he saw Mrs. Jones ! You seem to 
be dull of comprehension.” 

“ Maybe I am ; maybe I am. Only you are talking 
about Mrs. Jones, and I am talking about Mrs. Dunbar.” 

“ But, my goodness man I See here I Her name was 
Dunbar when she was Dunbar’s wife, wasn’t it? And 
when she married Jones her name was Jones. Do you 
understand ? ” 

“ Married ! is she married?” 

“ Certainly ! of course ! ” 

** Married to Jones ! What Jones ? ” 

“Why, Arbutus Jones; been married several years.’ 

The head of Thompson Dunbar fell upon the table, 
and he did not even tr>' to keep back the sobs which burst 
from his overladen heart. Then a thought occurred to 
him. Looking up he said to the landlord : — 

“ And Jones ? He is dead ? ” 

“ No, sir ; alive and well, and heartier than ever.” 

Thompson Dunbar arose an^ staggered from the 
room. He sought the privacy of his chamber, where he 
could weep tears of passionate grief. 

An hour or two later his mind was made up. His 
heart was broken, but he would have one long, last 
lingering look at his darlings and his children before he 
sought the tomb. 

He seized his hat and cane, and walked rapidly 
toward the house where he used to live. As he came 
near to it he recognized it as the old place but little 


THOMPSON DUNBAR. 


47 


changed. How dear it had been to him ! How much he 
had loved it ! And now another polluted its hearth- 
stone. Another had whitewashed its fence ! He groaned 
as he thought of these things. 

There were children playing in the yard. One hand- 
some boy had run out into the highway after an errant 
ball. Thompson spoke to him. The boy stopped to 
listen. Thompson recognized the suit he had on. It had 
been made by a pious maternal hand from Dunbar’s own 
wedding coat. 

Thompson asked the boy to sit upon the grass with 
him. 

“ What is your name, my lad ? ” he asked. 

“ William T. Dunbar, sir,” the boy replied. 

“ And where is your father ? ** 

“ Drowned ! ” 

“ Are you sure of that ? *’ 

Yes, sir. I know he is. Mother says sow* 

" Have you no other father ? 

«Yes! old Jones!” 

** Do you love him ? ” 

** No, sir ; not when he licks me.*^ 

“ He whips you, does he ?” 

“ Sometimes 1 ” 

Dunbar felt his anger growing hot. He felt an im- 
pulse to go in and kill Jones on the spot ; but he thought 
better of it. 

“ What would you say, my dear boy,” he asked, “ if I 
should tell you that your real father is not dead ? ” 

“ I should say you were a scandalous old story-teller.” 

“ But I do tell you so 1 I am your father !” 


48 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


The boy laughed, when he looked thoughtfully at 
Dunbar and said : — 

“ Did you ever read the story about George Washing- 
ton and his little hatchet ? ” 

“ Yes, my son,” 

“ Well, you’d better go home and study up that story. 
George couldn’t tell a lie. There’ll never be an anecdote 
of that kind written about you.” 

Thompson heaved a deep sigh. He was about to 
reason with the lad, when a sharp female voice was heard 
calling — 

“ Billee — ee — ee— ee— ee ! Billee — ee— ee ! • 

“ That’s me ! ” said the boy. “ She’s calling me. I 
must go,” and he jumped from the ground. 

“ Who is it ? ” asked Dunbar. 

“Old Ballygag, we call her,” said the boy. “One of 
pa’s wives ! ” 

The next moment the head of Ballygag was projected 
over the fence top, and she saw Thompson. 

“ Billy,” she exclaimed, “ you come into the house 
this instant! How many times have I told you not to 
have anything to do with those abominable tramps that 
come loafing about here, sneaking little children away 
from their parents, and breaking their mother’s heart. 
You 11 be kidnapped the first thing you know, or lost 
like your poor dear father, who went down to the bottom 
of the Pacific Ocean and was never heard of again, 
leastways, by any of us who ought to have heard of him 
if he was alive and well, which he wasn’t. Heaven bless 
his soul 1 for how could he be when he was bitten all to 
pieces by the sharks ? Billy, come right in this minute ; 



4 


“ Billy, come right in this minute .” — Page 48 




50 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


and you, you old vagabond, move on, and don’t come 
hanging around here looking like a long-haired lunatic, 
scaring people’s children half to death ! Move on, or I’ll 
call the police ! ” 

And the Ballygag grasped Billy, already upon the 
other side of the fence, boxed his ears a couple of times 
and led him in bawling. 

Thompson turned sadly away and began to walk to- 
wards his hotel. A tramp ! And this was a woman he 
had once called by the endearing name of wife ! Better 
to have stayed upon his desert island and to have died 
there miserable and forlorn, than to have come home to 
such agony and insult as this. 

He determined never to seek his home again unless 
he should resolve to reveal himself to his wife. But the 
yearning that he felt was too strong. He could not resist 
it When the shadows of evening -'fell he sought the 
house again. There were brilliant lights in the windows 
as he softly crept through the gateway and trod with 
noiseless footfall upon the gravelled walk. He stepped 
upon the porch, and hiding behind a shutter he peered 
through the casement 

How beautiful that sweet domestic scene! but how 
horrible for him! His own dear sitting-room, and yet not 
his ! 

There she was ! Emma, Sapphira, Ethelberta, Hen- 
rietta, Columbia — all of her. A few of her sat about the 
centre table knitting. A few of her, were ranged around 
the wall. Lucille (his own Ballygag) was there making 
over one of Thompson’s shirts for Jones 1 Everything 
seemed to conspire to cut him up. 


THOMPSON DUNBAR. 


51 


Thei:e was Arbutus Jones, his old rival, sitting in an 
arm-chair with smiling face, dandling three infants upon 
each knee. He was playing with them and with forty-two 
other children ; and in a corner were seven cradles full of 
babes, among them two twins and a triplet, which were 
rocked by a hydraulic engine operated by pellucid water 
from the sparkling mountain stream. Every now and 
then one of Mrs. Jones would look up from her work and 
smile at her husband and at the pranks of the little ones. 
They were all so peaceful, so happy, so thoughtless of 
the haggard man who shivered and shuddered out there 
in the dusky night as with wild eyes he devoured the scene. 

Thompson looked eagerly at the children. In the 
faces of some he traced his own lineaments, his own 
noble Roman nose ; in others he saw distinctly the facial 
outlines of Jones ; he saw the nose which turned upward 
as if perpetually it would sniff the celestial constellations. 

There was a great pain in his heart. He did not know 
what to do. He was dazed, bewildered. His first impulse 
was to express his emotion by bursting in the window 
with a brick. But he repented him of the thought. 'His 
wife was happy. It would be most horrible for him to 
break in upon the even current of her lives and to bring 
misery to that joyous household. Hecould not bear to do 
it. What right had he to make J ones’s children mother- 
less, and their father a houseless wanderer ? He would 
not do so fearful an act. He would go quietly away and 
lay him down and die. Death would be welcome to him 
now. He had nothing to live for, nothing to hope for, no 
joy or happiness any more in this cold and cruel world. 

He returned again to his lodging. That night a 


5 ^ 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


raging fever attacked him. For days he was wild with 
delirium, but at last the fever left him, and he became 
conscious. His life was fast ebbing away. The physician 
told him that the end was near. He must finish at once 
his connectioh with the affairs of this world. 

He called for his landlord. 

When I am dead,” he said, “ I want you to have my 
remains prepared for the tomb, and then I wish you to 
send for Mrs. Arbutus Jones to come here to look upon 
my face.” 

“ Which of her ? ” asked the landlord, sadly. 

“ All of her. She loved me once. She will wish to 
see me.” 

“ Who are you ?” 

“Thompson Dunbar!’* 

And then his tired spirit winged its way into the illimit- 
able ether. He was no more. Perhaps he was even less. 

The last message of the unhappy Thompson was con- 
veyed to Mrs. Jones ; and she came, in melancholy array, 
to view all that remained of him who had won the love of 
her youth. It was a sad, sad scene at that reunion. 
Thirty-two fond women in tears, and the late Mrs. Bally- 
gag haunted by an awful fear that she had slain him by 
denouncing him as a tramp, snatching his boy from his 
arms, and driving him from his home. 

Even Jones was affected. Overcome by the spectacle 
of his wife’s grief, he wandered off disconsolate to the 
barroom, and tried to find solace in a variety of mixed 
beverages. 

Of course Coroner Partridge came ; his duty was to 
view the body. When the shocking story was told him, 


THOMPSON DUNBAR. 


53 


he laughed. Partridge, a man holding a high and res- 
ponsible and most solemn public position actually laughed 
boisterously. Persons thought that his familiarity with 
woe had robbed him of sensibility ; but that was not it 
Partridge had suddenly thought of a terrible scheme of 
revenge. 

The funeral was held upon the following Tuesday. 
Mrs. Jones attended in full force, and each of her carried 
with her a modest tombstone, bearing a tribute to the 
memory of Thompson Dunbar. They buried him upon 
the hillside with impressive ceremonies, and then Mrs. 
Jones planted the thirty-three tombstones upon the grave 
and watered them with her tears. 

Mrs. Jones returned to her home sorrowful, but trying 
to regard the matter with a spirit of resignation. Thence- 
forth she would be happy with her children. 

Happy ! The next morning Mr. Partridge called. 
Mr. Jones and the whole of his wife were at home. After 
some preliminary and original remarks about the weather, 
Partridge said — 

“ By the way, Jones, you know my brother Joe?** 

“ The druggist, you mean ?” 

“Yes, the druggist. I called, ladies, to ascertain what 
you think of him.’* 

“We don’t know him,” the ladies said. 

“And we don’t want to know him,” Jones added. 

“ Ah, that is indeed unfortunate. I hoped the ladies 
knew him and admired him,” said Partridge. 

“ Nobody,” replied Jones, sarcastically, “ admires a man 
who looks like a clothes-pin stuck in an apple- That isn’t 
our favourite style of man.” 


54 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


** How sad !” exclaimed Partridge, calmly. It would 
be so much better for all parties if there was some basis 
upon which to build a genuine affection.” 

“Affection! What in thunder do you mean?” de- 
manded Jones, warmly, and rising from his chair. 

“ Why,” said Partridge, “ where parties have to live to- 
gether, love is necessary to happiness.” 

“Partridge!” exclaimed Jones, “I don’t want to 
knock out your brains ; you have so little to spare. But 
I shall be obliged to do so if you keep on. Fll brain 
you right before Mrs. Jones ” 

“Mrs. Jones!” said Partridge. “ What Mrs. Jones? 
I don’t see any Mrs. Jones about here.” 

“No more of this nonsense,” said Jones, fiercely. 
“ Quit now, or I’ll throw you out of the window.” 

“ When I quit, these ladies go with me,” said Part- 
ridge, waving his hand toward the group. 

“ Mr. Partridge, please explain your self,” appealed 
Sapphira 

“ Certainly, madam.” 

“ He’d better, or I’ll murder him,” said Jones. 

** I suppose, ladies, you consider yourself the wife of 
this person, Jones?” 

“ Certainly,” was the unanimous answer. 

“Of course,’’ shouted Jones. 

“ Well, you ain’t,” said Partridge. 

“ Why not ? ” they asked. 

“You were married to him while Dunbar was alive. 
The marriage, therefore, was illegal. It .was null and 
void. Consequently, you are now simply Mrs. Dunbar» 
the widow of the late Thompson Dunbar.” 


THOMPSON DUNBAR. 


55 


“Is that all,” sa Jones, laughing; “we’ll soon 
remedy that. We will perform the ceremony again this 
afternoon.” 

“ Oh, no you won’t, Mr. Jones,” sneered Partridge, 
“ I don’t think you will.” 

“ Why not ? I’d like to know who will prevent me ? ” 

“ I will.” 

“How?” 

“Last night, the Prophet Young had a revelation. 
He was commanded to seal the whole of the widow 
Dunbar to another man. That man was my brother Joe ! ” 

Arbutus J ones uttered a wild exclamation, which can- 
not be reproduced here without injury to good manners 
and to the morals of the reader. The thirty-three widows 
fell fainting upon the floor. Partridge sent a servant to 
call up his carriages They came. Jones showed some 
signs of a resistance, but Partridge said : — 

‘‘Come, now, old fellow, you know it’s of no use. 
This is exactly the way you played it on me, and I took 
my punishment like a man. You might as well do the 
same. Joe ’ll make her a better husband than you, any- 
way.” 

Jones perceived the folly of fighting against the 
Prophet and fate. He kissed his darlings fondly, as they 
began to resuscitate, and then flying out into the garden, 
he sought a deep recess among the trees, and cursed Joe 
and all the Partridges, and the Prophet, and the Church, 
and Mormondom generally, from Joe Smith down to 
Brigham, and back again. Then he left his home for 
ever, envious of the rest that had come to his rival, 
Dunbar, in the depths of the' sepulchre. 


56 


THE TRAGEDY OF 


Partridge took the widow down to his brother Joe’s, 
and Joe and he tried to persuade her to accept her fate 
She did so, at last, sullenly and reluctantly ; but, never 
theless, with recognition of the fact that it was a religious 
duty. She was married to Joseph Partridge, and to his 
home she came after the ceremony. He tried to make 
her happy by giving her free run of the gum drops, and 
liquorice, and jujube paste, and fancy soap, and tooth 
brushes in the store. But none of these things comforted 
her, and life became more intolerable for her every day. 

Jones did call one day, when her husband was away 
on business at Ogden, and proposed to her to elope with 
him, and join the Gentiles. But none of her were willing 
to commit such an awful sin, excepting the high-spirited 
and irrepressible Ballygag ; and Jones, after considering 
the matter, concluded that the enterprise, in her company, 
had not those fascinating characteristics which had 
seemed to him to distinguish it when the idea first oc- 
curred to him. He bade the whole of Mrs. Partridge 
farewell, for ever, and, going out into the wilderness, he 
foreswore civilization. He joined the Kickapoo Indians, 
and began practising war-whoops. 

As for Mrs. Partridge, she dwindled and died, one by 
one, and her husband bought an acre in the cemetery, in 
which he placed her; and when the last was gone, he 
went back to his desolate home, to roll pills in agony, 
and to moisten his salts and senna with his tears ! 



r. ^Itinnir’s itt 



I. 

N the reading-room of an hotel at Eisenach, 
Central Germany, Mr. Bartholomew G 
Skinner, of Squan, New Jersey, United 
States of America, sat with his feet upon 
the edge of a table. 

Mr. Skinner had acquired a fortune at 
Squan. He began as the keeper of a summer 
hotel, and with money earned in this avocation 
he had engaged in speculations in land upon a large 
scale. Having bought up vast tracts of “ pine barrens ” 
in West Jersey — great stretches of sandy Ibam, on which 
grew nothing but stunted pines, scrub oaks, and huckle- 
berry bushes ; he cleared them, laid out farms and- 
villages, invited immigration, and advertised far and wide 
over the civilized earth the cheapness of his lands, the 
fertility of the soil, and the healthfulness of the climate. ■ 
People came, saw, bought, and took up their residences 
there ; and so it came to pass that while Mr. Skinner 


58 


MR. SKINNER'S NIGHT 


amassed a fortune, thirty or forty thousand persons 
acquired cheap homes, beautiful towns dotted the former 
desert, and vines, and p^ch-trees, and waving grain 
stood in luxuriant growth where nature had for centuries 
supplied nothing but vegetation that was useless to 
man. 

Mr. Skinner was, in a high and noble sense, a bene- 
factor of his race. The man who turns a great wilderness 
into a lovely garden as he did, deserves even a richer 
reward than he counted when he summed up his profits. 

Mr. Skinner was travelling through Europe for enjoy- 
ment. He was a man who had had little education in 
his boyhood ; but he had read much, and thought much ; 
and concerning the practical affairs of life he was fairly 
well informed. He was a practical man, and he prided 
himself upon the fact. There was no nonsense about 
him, and not a great deal of sentiment, excepting that 
which has a basis of solid common sense. The natural 
movement of his mind was always toward the bottom 
facts ; and where a matter was clearly within human ken 
he never accepted theory, or tradition, or guess work, but 
proceeded to examine it for himself, in his own way, and 
to form his own conclusions. 

The contempt entertained by Mr. Skinner for some of 
the methods, ideas, and superstitions which he encoun- 
tered during his journeying, could hardly be expressed, 
and he did not often try. He fully realized that every- 
body’s way could not be his way ; that large allowance 
must be made for differences of condition in which men 
are brought up, and that only a fool goes through the 
world condemning aloud everything that does not con- 


IN THE UNDER-WORLD. 


59 


form to his standard. But Mr. Skinner was not a si/ent 
man. He liked to talk, and he talked with directness 
and confidence. He was utterly simple, and without 
affectation — so much so, that those who had been accus- 
tomed to stand in awe of persons, whom Mr. Skinner 
never hesitated to regard with easy familiarity, mistook 
for rudeness what was really nothing but absolute un- 
consciousness that there was any occasion for a mani- 
festation of reverence. A man of intense simplicity is 
apt to give great offence to those who are keenly sensitive 
to the requirements of a very artificial etiquette ; and Mr. 
Skinner often did so. But he never willingly offended, 
for a kinder heart than his never beat in a human bosom. 

Mr. Skinner was reading a book as he sat with his 
feet nearly as high as his head. It was a Traveller’s 
Guide, and the passage that interested him at that 
moment described the Horselberg, just beyond Eisenach, 
and told in a very prosy way the wonderful story of 
Tanhaiiser. 

Mr. Skinner had never encountered that legend before. 
He read it through twice, first hurriedly, and then more 
carefully. Then he turned the book over upon the table, 
rose from his chair, and went to the window. 

He looked out, and there, in full view, was the very 
mountain alluded to in the story. Mr. Skinner stood 
for several minutes gazing at it, with his hands behind 
his back. He appeared to be considering something. 
Presently he turned about and rang the bell. When the 
waiter appeared, Mr. Skinner said to him in English : 

“ What mountain is that, over there ? ’’ 

“ The Horselberg, sir.”- 


6o 


SKINNER'S NIGHT 


“ Is that the hill Tanhaiiser went into ?” 

“Yes, sir ; so they say/’ 

“ You’ve read about it, have you ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Do you believe that story .? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know, sir. I think I do. Evervbody 
here believes it.” 

“ Ever been over there 1 ” 

“ Many a time, sir.” 

“ To the place where Tanhaiiser got in ?” 

“ That’s what they say, sir.” 

“ I want you to take me to that spot.” 

“ All right, sir ; when ? ” 

“ Late this afternoon. I want to get there by the 
shortest known route.” 

“Very well, sir.” 

“You come into this room at seven o’clock precisely, 
and I’ll be ready.” 

“Yes, sir,” said the man, as he withdrew. 

As Mr. Skinner walked back to the window to take 
another look at the mountain, he said to himself : 

“ If there’s anything in that story I’m going to find it 
out. If Tanhaiiser could get in, why can’t I get in .? And 
if I do get in. I’ll bet a dollar I’ll play a better hand than 
he played, see if I don’t ! ” 

Then Mr. Skinner sat down by the table and began 
his eleventh letter to the Bar^iegat Advertiser^ the news- 
paper through which he conveyed to the people at home 
his impressions of Europe. 

At seven o’clock Mr. Skinner was in the room equipped 
for his undertaking. He had a traveller’s satchel con- 


IN THE UNDEk-WORLD. 


6i 


taining a few articles swung over his shoulder ; he had 
placed a loaded revolver in his pocket ; upon his arm 
was a light overcoat, and in his hand he carried an 
umbrella. 

Presently the servant entered, and ordering him to 
lead the way, Mr. Skinner started, stopping for a moment 
as he went out to address a note to the proprietor of the 
hotel, who was temporarily absent. 

After a long walk, and some rather stiff climbing, the 
goal was reached. 

“ This is the place, is it asked Mr. Skinner, 

“Yes, sir!” 

' “ Humph ! Well, you can go home now,” said Mr. 

Skinner, putting a bit of money into the man’s hand. 

“ Not going back with me, sir ? ” 

“ No ; I intend to stay here all night. I’ll return in 
the morning, most likely. You needn’t wait I ” 

The man looked at him with mingled amazement and 
curiosity, but as it was plainly apparent from Mr. Skinner’s 
manner that he was not convulsed by extraordinary emo- 
tion of any kind, and was neither coptemplating suicide, 
nor likely to be much affected by supernatural manifesta- 
tions if any should appear, the man turned slowly about 
and began to retrace his steps. 

It was early twilight, and Mr. Skinner’s first act was 
to take a look at the place. It was upon the mountain’s 
side, a sort of a small plateau, covered with grass and a 
sparse underbrush. The mountain rose high and black 
above him, bare and rugged to the top. Trees were 
thickly clustered upon each side of the plateau, and 
beneath him in front the ground sloped away somewhat 


62 


MR. SKINNERS S NIGHT 


precipitously, its sides clothed with verdure, excepting 
here and there where the rain had washed the earth into 
gullies, or the stones had slid downward and marked 
their narrow paths by stripping away the grass. 

Out beyond the base of the mountain he could per- 
ceive through the gathering dusk the indistinct outlines of 
the town, with now and then a light shining from a window. 

Mr. Skinner admitted to himself that the loneliness of 
the place was somewhat oppressive ; but he was in search 
of .truth, and he had not expected to be quite so comfort- 
able as he would have been at the hotel. 

It grew darker, and the air became chilly. Mr. 
Skinner put on his overcoat ; then he threw his umbrella 
upon the ground, seated himself upon it, and lighted a 
cigar. Upon the whole it was not disagreeable ; there 
was a flavour of adventure about it which pleased him. 

As the darkness deepened the lights in the town 
increased in number, and he even thought he could 
distinguish his hotel by the glow about the front windows. 

It was a magnificent night. The stars twinkled 
brightly as he looked up at them, and he felt a good deal 
of satisfaction in recognizing most of the constellations. 
Those were the very planets that he used to study from 
his own front porch at Squan. They had an air of old 
acquaintanceship which was delightful. He had not seen 
anything since he left the States that reminded him so 
strongly of home. It was a little odd to think of those 
heavenly bodies sweeping over Squan, missing him, and 
after crossing the continent and the Pacific Ocean find- 
ing him sitting on his umbrella out here on a wild moun- 
tain in Germany. 


IN THE UNDER-WlRLD. 


63 


The damp earth and the heavy odours of the vege- 
tation about him brought up peculiar recollections also. 
We remember smells longer than anything else in our 
experience. The Horselberg, on that calm and peaceful 
night, had the odours that greeted his nostrils on the 
second night at Gettysburg, when he lay upon the hill- 
side, in the dusk, with his regiment, too weary of blood 
and carnage even to thin*k of to-morrow’s battle, which 
would bring death to thousands about him, and woe to 
other thousands far away from the battle-field. 

And so he mused and smoked, and smoked and 
mused, as the hours went slowly by. Once or twice he 
caught himself nodding ; and then he would rise and 
walk about for a little space to rouse himself. 

At last, however, his thoughts became confused, and 
he knew no more until suddenly he was conscious of 
the faint reverberations of a distant town clock. He 
counted the strokes mechanically, and there were 
TWELVE. 

He had been asleep quite an hour. He was about to 
get up and walk again, when he heard a noise close to 
him, very faint, but distinct and musical. In a moment 
he saw that the turf about about him was lighted by a 
glow softer and less clear than moonlight ; and he per- 
ceived that a host of tiny figures capered about amid the 
grass. 

All of his senses instantly were upon the alert. He 
pressed his finger-nails strongly against his palm, to be 
sure that he was not dreaming. No; he was wide 
awake— he thought himself sure of that ; and although 
he felt a most intense curiosity, and he realized that his 


64 


SKINNER S NIGHT 


heart was beating with accelerated motion, he was per- 
fectly cool and fearless. 

Looking steadfastly, he could perceive that the 
moving creatures were miniature men and women, 
dressed in fantastic garb. They danced about to and 
fro, here and there, uttering few sounds and seeming 
wholly unconscious of the presence of an observer. Mr. 
Skinner knew that they were elves ; they belonged to the 
story of Tanhaiiser. 

An hour ago he did not believe in the existence of 
such beings. Would anybody believe him when he 
should relate his experiences ? What would the solid, 
practical common-sense of Squan respond to a story of 
an actual experience with elves 1 He had an instinctive 
feeling that it would never do to include anything 
of that kind in his next letter to the Barnegat 
Advertiser. 

Mr. Skinner sat perfectly still, and watched the pretty 
creatures making their evolutions. He had half a notion 
at one time to put out his hand suddenly, and seize a 
couple of them. There was a fortune waiting for the 
showman who should offer such an attraction to the 
people. Tom Thumb and his kind would be nowhere 
compared with such atoms as these. But he thought 
better of it. They seemed so innocent and happy that he 
could not bear to injure one of them. And for money 
too ! He had enough of that without doing a cowardly 
action for the sake of it. 

They came nearer and nearer to him, and he could 
see that they were numbered by tens of thousands. 
Every blade of grass and every barley-corn of earth 


IN THE UNDER-WORLD. 


65 


swarmed with them, They danced, and rolled, and 
kicked, and leaped, and tumbled ; and as they came 
to his side and turned somersaults upon the ferule of 
his umbrella, some of them began to throw their caps 
into the air. One cap finally fell upon his hand. He did 
not mean to do it, but, somehow, involuntarily, his fingers 



‘‘involuntarily, his fingers closed upon it.” 


closed upon it. In the twinkling of an eye the whole 
army of elves vanished, the glow faded from the grass, 
and there was silence and deep darkness. 

“ Queer ! ” muttered Mr. Skinner to himself ; “ all 
gone, every imp of them. Let’s see what it is I’ve got, 
anyhow.” 

5 


66 


MR. SKINNER'S NIGHT 


He struck a match and looked. It was a tiny cap, too 
small to go upon the end of his finger. 

Well, there’s something like proof if I ever want to 
tell what I saw ! I’ll keep it.” 

He never knew precisely whence came the impulse 
that moved him to do so absurd a thing as to remove his 
hat and to place that little thimble of a cap upon his 
head ; but he did so, and no sooner had it touched his 
crown than there was heard a sound of rushing wind and 
a confused murmur of voices. He felt himself whirled 
about by some unseen force, and before he could make a 
movement of resistance, he found himself lying in what 
appeared to be a dimly-lighted cavern, flat upon his 
back, with his umbrella in one hand and his hat in the 
other. 


II. 

“ Not very pleasant,'*^ said Mr Skinner, as he sat up and 
looked around ; but it’s original and mighty inte- 
resting ! * I’d pay a reasonable price to know what it was 
that picked me up and flung me in here. I didn’t 
see a thing. I’m in for it now, though, sure as you’re 
born.” 

Mr. Skinner got upon his feet, and after feeling his 
revolver, to ascertain if it was handy for use, he examined 
the cavern. . It had rocky walls, absolutely bare, unless 
where stalactites here and there ^ hung from the roof. 
Straight before him it opened through a narrow way into 
a spacet beyond, of which he could see little, excepting 


IN THE UNDER-WORLD. 


67 


that far, far in the distance he discerned what appeared 
to be a mere point of very brilliant light. 

Hardly had he gotten upright than the walls of the 
cavern rang suddenly with a chorus of wild, shrieking 
laughter. 

Slightly startled by this fiendish noise, he looked and 
saw coming toward him swiftly what looked something 
like a squall of snow. Before he could think about it, 
he was enveloped by a crowd of figures of misty 
whiteness, which swept round and about him with 
amazing velocity. 

It was a moment or two before he could realize 
precisely what was the matter; but he soon began 
to mark the outlines of hideous forms, which grinned 
at him in a horrible fashion and seemed to menace 
him. 

“ Ghosts ! or my name is not Skinner ! Well, I never 
thought I’d strike anything like this ! ” 

The whirlwind of shadows encircled him with accele- 
rated speed, and as they came closer and closer to him, 
the demoniacal yells became more fierce and terrible. 
Mr. Skinner was surprised at his own calmness. Leaning 
upon his umbrella, he observed the performance with 
rather a critical air, and after a brief interval of silence 
he remarked, without being certain that he was ad- 
dressing anyone in particular : 

“ It’s of no use. You can’t scare me with any of your 
whooping and howling. I can stand this sort of thing 
as long as you can. I’m not one of the hysterical 
kind.” 

Still the spectral storm raged wildly about him, and 


68 


M/?. SKIIVNER^S NIGHT 


still the cavern echoed the voices that came out of the 
tempest. 

“ Oh well ! ” said Mr. Skinner, at last, sitting quietly 
down and crossing one leg over the other, “ if it makes 
you feel better to waltz around that way, just go on ! I 
can wait ! Only I’m going to explore this den, if I have 
to stay here a week to do it ! ” 

Suddenly, as he spoke, the ghostly crowd left him and 
flew shrieking down the passage whence it came. One 
figure alone stood before Mr. Skinner. It looked some- 
what like an old man, with long hair and beard, and with 
a face of majestic sternness. 

Mr. Skinner saw the form so vividly, that he at first 
thought it to be a real human being ; but when it stood 
between him and the passage-way, and he perceived that 
he could see the distant light right through the old man's 
mantle, he comprehended that he had a genuine ghost to 
deal with. 

“ Unhappy man,” said the spectre, “why did you dare 
to penetrate to this secret chamber?” 

“ Well, in the first place. I’m a free and independent 
American citizen, travelling upon a passport signed by 
the Secretary of State, and I’ve got a right to go where 
anybody else goes ; and, in the second place, I was 
pitched in here, head over heels, without my consent, by 
some of your people.” 

“ Are you not afraid to stand in the presence of the 
awful spirits of the dead ? ” 

“No, I’m not! Certainly not ! You can’t frighten 
me? What are you. anyhow? You’re nothing but a 
little bit of vapour, or carbonic acid gas, or something 



“ I am not afraid of anything I can poke my umbrella through, 

like that .” — Page jo. 

















70 


MR. SKINNER'S NIGHT 


If there was a chimney here and a strong draught, you’d 
be sucked up the flue. You couldn’t help yourself; 
Afraid ! I’m not afraid of anything I can poke my um- 
brella through, like that, and that ! ” and Mr. Skinner 
stirred about with his umbrella in the middle of the 
spectre. 

“ You are very audacious; but you will never escape 
from here,” said the ghost, solemnly ; “ never, never ! ” 

“ I won’t ? We’ll see about that. I’ve left my direc- 
tion with the United States’ consul, down at the town 
below here, and if I’m not back again within a specified 
time, he’ll be up here and blow your old mountain to 
flinders ! You don’t seem to be acquainted with the 
party you have to deal with.” 

“ It is strange,” said the spectre, with the faintest 
suggestion of embarrassment in its hollow tones, “ we 
are not used to being regarded with such calmness by 
mere mortals.” 

“ I know it ! ” answered Mr. Skinner ; I know it. 
People generally are frightened into fits when they think 
they see a ghost ; but I made up my mind long ago that 
if I ever met one I was going to investigate him S’pose 
we sit down here and have a little talk ? ” 

The spectre did not move ; but it struck Mr. Skinner 
that he detected upon the misty countenance some evi- 
dence that the ghost felt that it was hardly holding its 
own. Mr. Skinner had the advantage, and he knew it. 

“ I want to ask you now, for example,” said Mr. 
Skinner, sitting and locking his fingers over his knee, 
“how it feels to be a disembodied spirit ? Never hungry, 
are you ? ” 


IN THE UNDER- WO RED. 


71 


The ghost slowly shook its head. 

“ Costs you nothing for food ; don’t have to buy any 
clothes ; no aches or pains, or anything of that kind ? ” 

The spectre still nodded negatively. 

“ I thought not,” said Mr. Skinner, “ and nothing spent 
for travelling expenses either. I reckon, now, if you 
wanted to take a fly over to America you could get there 
in a jiffy : crawl through a keyhole when you felt like it 
too. I’ve no doubt ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the ghost. 

“ It’s mighty singular,” said Mr. Skinner, reflectively. 
“ I’ve felt that way myself at times, in dreams. It must 
be rather agreeable, upon the whole. N o taxes and no 
work to do. But, say, what’s the fact about your fellows 
haunting houses and graveyards t Ever do anything of 
that kind.?” 

“ Sometimes.” 

“ I wouldn’t have believed it two hours ago. But 
what’s the sense of it ? What’s the use of scaring people 
with that kind of foolishness ? Why don’t you keep off 
and behave ? ” 

“You could not understand it if I were to tell 
you.” 

“ I’d like to have a chance to try, any way. But, no 
matter, let that pass. I wish you’d tell me, though, 
what’s going on in here. Whose place is it ? ” 

“These are the realms of Venus. You shall see 
them ; I will lead you .” 

“ Will you ! That’s clever ! I’m glad I met you ! ” 
and Mr. Skinner attempted to pat his companion on the 
back, but his hand went through the figure. 


72 


MR. SKINNER'- S NIGHT 


“ How soon will you be ready to start?” asked Mr 
Skinner. 

“ Now ! ” 

“All right ! But wait a minute ! No objection to my 
smoking, I suppose ? ” said Mr. Skinner, lighting a match. 
“ Maybe you’ll have a cigar ? Oh ! excuse me ; I forgot. 
Of course you don’t care for such things? Now,” said 
he, shouldering his umbrella, “ if you’ll push ahead I’ll 
follow.” 

“ I will go ! ” said the spectre. 

“ One moment ! As we are going to travel together I 
think I ought to — that is, I, — beg pardon, but have you a 
name ? ” 

“I am the Erl- King! One of the poets, Goethe, 
wrote of me. You have read it, perhaps.” 

“ What ! you don’t say ! Yes, sir, that poem is in 
every ‘ Speaker ’ in our school district. You ran off with 
a child. I tell you what, old man, it wouldn’t do to try 
any of those kidnapping pranks in our country ; the 
people wouldn’t put up with them. Where is the little 
one ? ” 

“In the court chamber. You shall see.’’ 

The journey began. The pair entered the narrow 
passage way, and Mr. Skinner, whose powers of observa- 
tion were in full play, noted that the walls were cut so 
smoothly that not a crevice or scratch could be seen upon 
them. 

“ That’s a mighty nice piece of work,” he said, rubbing 
his hand upon the wall. “ How did you cut that ? With 
hand tools or atmospheric drills ? ” 

“It was not done by mortal hands ! ” said the shade. 


IN THE UNDER- WORLD. 


73 


“ No?” exclaimed Mr. Skinner, as the pair proceeded 
upon their journey. “ And this too ! *’ he said, as they 
emerged into a long gallery higher and wider than the 
passage way leading to it. “ This beats any rock-cutting 
I have seen yet. I say, if anybody ever wanted to run a 
railroad tunnel through this mountain would your folks 
consider a proposition for a right of way ? ” 

The ghost slowly shook its head. 

‘‘ It’s a pity, too,” said Skinner, sadly, “ for it don't 
seem right to have work like that wasted.” 

“ It’s not wasted,” said the goblin. 

“ Well, of course, each of us looks at it differently. 
That’s only natural. Now, it strikes me that to bore a 
magnificent hole through a mountain for nothing else 
than for a parcel of goblins to prowl about in, is a sinful 
waste of effort. However, it’s none of my business.” 

As he spoke there was heard a faint sound of the 
crowing of a cock. 

“ Halloa ! What’s that ? Sounds like a rooster ? ” 

“ It is a cock crowing outside of us, upon the hill- 
top.” 

“ Outside, eh ? I thought, at first, maybe you kept 
chickens, and it struck me as kind of singular. I couldn’t 
imagine what a ghost wanted with poultry.” 

A few steps further on the pair came to the edge of a 
precipice, and Mr. Skinner could see, beneath, a black, 
rolling stream, from which clouds of light vapour ascended ; 
while upon the other side, perhaps a hundred feet distant, 
the rocks rose sheer and ragged to the level of the height 
upon which he stood. 

T^cross the chasm was a sort of bridge, not wider than 


74 


MR. SKINNER'S NIGHT 


a hand’s breadth, and having nothing but the naked 
footway to support the traveller who should try to cross 

it. 

“ What is this ? ” asked Mr. Skinner. 

“ This,” said the spectre, “ is a river of boiling pitch, 
which must be passed by every mortal who penetrates to 
these realms.” 

“How do visitors get across.^” 

“ Upon this bridge. Some do not succeed. Dare 
you venture it ? ” 

“ I think I shall. Is it the custom to walk over?” 

“It is,” said the goblin, with what seemed to be a 
look of fiendish exultation upon its misty countenance. 

“Humph!” remarked Mr. Skinner. “Nobody can 
account for the foolishness that there is in the world. 
Now, my way of getting over is different. Hold my 
umbrella a moment ; won’t you ? ” 

As the goblin could not comply with this request, Mr. 
Skinner put the umbrella under the top of his satchel. 
Then he got down and sat astride of the bridge, and 
aided by his hands he made a series of small jumps which 
brought him safely to the other side in a few moments. 

The goblin was there to meet him, and Mr. Skinner 
noticed that it had an air of severe disappointment. 
When he got upon his feet he said : 

“ That is the poorest contrivance for crossing a stream 
that I ever saw. Why don’t you rig up something 
better ? ” 

“We are contented with it ! ” said the ghost, 
gloomily. 

“ I’ll tell you,” remarked Mr. Skinner, producing a 



" He made a series of small jumps.”— Fage 74 








MR. SKINNERS S NIGHT 


pencil, and making a calculation upon the back of an 
old letter which he fished from his pocket. “ I know a 
man in my country who’ll run you an iron truss bridge 
over that chasm for twenty-four hundred dollars, and 
keep it painted for ten years. Something substantial and 
safe. If you say so I’ll write to him?” 

The goblin, with a mournful look, shook its head. 

“All right,” said Mr. Skinner, “it’s your concern 
and not mine. But, I’ll tell you, if money was any object 
with you there are people who’d give a handsome bonus 
for the privilege of boring for oil right around here. I 
know, old man, from what I’ve seen in Pennsylvania, that 
there is petroleum where that pitch comes from. Do 
you care to speculate in the matter? No? Oh, very 
well, 1 thought it might be friendly to mention it.” 

As the shade of the Erl-king moved forward, with Mr. 
Skinner following, the character of the gallery underwent 
a change. The walls were separated by larger distances, 
and the vault above them rose to a greater height. The 
rocks, instead of showing their nakedness, began to dis- 
play lavish adornment. Sometimes they were covered 
with masses of trailing vines which hung from them in 
graceful festoons ; sometimes great bunches of beautiful 
ferns were clustered upon the walls, their long and 
feathery branches sweeping downward to the floor. At 
brief intervals the verdure gave place to a mosaic work 
of splendid jewels. Mr. Skinner was amazed to find 
hundreds of square feet of the walls glistening with 
diamonds, emeralds, rubies, amethysts, and other precious 
stones, of enormous size, and cut with the most exquisite 
skill. 


IN THE UNDER- WORLD. 


11 

The sun did not shine upon them, and there was no 
artificial light that he could discover ; and yet the mass 
of jewels flooded the vast chamber with a radiance that 
dazzled his eyes. It was the most glorious vision that 
he had ever encountered. It surpassed in the richness 
of its colouring and the splendour of its wealth everything 
that he had ever read of in the Arabian Nights, or 
dreamed of as he pored over the wildest fairy tales. He 
trod upon a pavement encrusted with stones, each one of 
which would have enriched an empire, and he saw about 
and above him walls inlaid with such superb art as no 
jeweller of mortal clay could hope to rival. 

His guide would have hurried on, but Mr. Skinner 
wanted to tarry a while and enjoy the spectacle. It is 
not every day, he thought, that a plain man has a chance 
to study such a scene. This alone, he said to himself, 
was worth all the trouble he had taken, and all the danger 
he had encountered. A description of the chamber, in a 
letter to the Barnegat Advertiser, would fill New Jersey 
with excitement ; and, before the year was out, the Erl- 
king’s goblin would have half a thousand Jerseymen 
knocking at his door and wanting to come in. 

“Ah ! ” said Mr. Skinner to his guide, “ I know now 
why you do not want visitors. I understand why you 
would like them to tumble off of that bridge. You’ve got 
millions and millions of dollars invested there.” 

“ This is nothing ; they are baubles,” said the ghost. 

“ What ! Oh, well, of course they’re not of much use 
to you. But I think I could get some practical good out 
of half a bushel, or so. That diamond there, for example, 
would supply half the women in my State with breast- 


78 


MR, SKINNER'S NIGHT 


pins, and make them perfectly happy. Are you handing 
any of these around — among your friends, I mean ? '' 

The ghost made no sign of affirmation, and Mr. 
Skinner added, as he gave a final look at the display, 
“No matter. I don’t covet them. Only, I thought it 
would be nice to take one or two along, to remember 
you by.” 

“ You will not find it easy to forget me, in the place 
to which you are going,” answered the Erl-king, with 
what might have passed for a sneer. “ See ! ” and the 
spectre waved its shadowy hand. 

Mr. Skinner turned and looked. Before him, at the 
foot of a gentle slope, lay a scene of weird and wonderful 
beauty. He saw a vast garden stretching away in front 
of him, and to the right and the left, towards boundaries 
which, somehow, were so indistinctly defined that he 
could not surely say what were the dimensions of the 
place, or its proportions. It had not the wildness of 
undisturbed Nature, but still less did it appear with the 
symmetry of human art. The beautiful confusion into 
which the untrained earth flings the forms that spring 
from her bosom, was not there. Some hand had prepared 
the outlines of the garden, but upon a scheme such as 
no mortal man could have devised. There were grace 
and beauty, but these were evolved from an order which 
was elfish in its eccentricity, and which appeared even 
wilder than chance itself. 

There were myriads of walks twisting and writhing 
into strangest shapes, beginning nowffiere and leading no 
whither; and these ran in and out among fantastic 
groupings of shrubbery, which expressed no definite 


IN THE UNDER-WORLD. 


79 


notions of forms, but conveyed suggestions of a purpose 
to fill the mind of the observer with a sense of the un- 
canny. 

The trees were covered with foliage which had a 
greenness not precisely that of the outer world, but so 
differing from it that one could not tell precisely wherein 
the difference lay. The sward, of the same strange hue, 
was covered with flowers of novel and peculiar shapes, 
and glowing with colours that had no counterpart in 
nature. Here and there cataracts fell from eminences 
upon the plain, but the water, as it tumbled, was governed 
by some force which turned it into queer figures, so that 
one might imagine it to possess life and volition of its 
own. 

After its descent, it ran away through tortuous chan- 
nels among the grasses, bubbling, and leaping, and play- 
ing fantastic tricks, as no earthly water could have done. 
The fountains, that burst upward from the plain at various 
points, also dashed and flashed in obedience to some law 
which was excepted from the code of nature. 

A flood of strong and penetrating light poured over 
the whole garden ; but there was no sunshine, no distinct 
radiance of any kind. The shadows merged into the 
light imperceptibly, and the waters gave back but a faint 
reflection to the source of their illumination. The leaves 
danced and fluttered, and the surface of the streams 
were lightly ruffled, but there was no breeze ; the birds 
flew about upon odd courses from bush to tree ; and they 
seemed to sing ; 'but no note of their music fell upon the 
ear. The cataracts tumbled in silence; no sound of 
falling waters came from the fountains. 


So 


MR. SKINNERS S NIGHT 


There was splendour and beauty, but over it all was 
the hush of death. It was a place that might have been 
made a home for joy, but it was joyless and horrible. 
There was life, movement, activity ; but only such ani- 
mation as that which stirs within the realms of dreamland 
—mysterious, noiseless, and unreal. 

As Mr. Skinner looked down upon the scene he 
realized these things, and, perhaps, for a moment, he 
had a sense of oppression, as though he were in a night- 
mare. But he readily freed himself from this feeling, and 
his curiosity was strongly excited as"'he noted several 
figures, apparently of human beings, passing slowly 
to and fro, in attitudes of dejection, along the avenues 
of the garden. 

“ Who are those people ? ” he asked of his guide. 

“ Those are mortal men who have come here as you 
have come, and whose fate it is to linger here for ever.” 

“ Why don’t they quit, and go home } ” 

‘‘ Only two of all who have entered this realm have 
gone away, and they returned when they were summoned. 
That is the doom of all ; to tarry or to return.” 

“ Who were the two ? ” 

“ Tanhaiiser and Thomas of Erceldoune,’’ 

“ Are they down there now ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, if you don’t mind. I’ll get you to introduce me. 

I would like to know one of them.” 

They walked down the declivity and into the garden. 
Mr. Skinner examined everything carefully. 

“ Land like that,” he said, pointing to a grassy tract 
which stretched av^^y to the left, ‘'would bring forty 


IN THE UNDER-WORLD. 


8i 


dollars an acre in West Jersey. I know a man who gave 
that price for some not quite so good.” 

The ghost made no reply, 

“ I don’t see,” continued Mr. Skinner, “ that you do 
much with the property. Now, there’s a field I know 
would be first-rate for watermelons or sweet potatoes ; a 
light, sandy soil, but rich and easily ploughed. If I were 
you I’d put at least an acre in melons and another in 
tomatoes and lima beans ; but then, of course,” said Mr. 
Skinner, suddenly remembering the unsubstantial nature 
of his companion, “ you don’t care as much for such 
things as I do. It’s a pity, though, so much territory 
going unimproved. It would be far better for those 
people there if they had a regular job of spading and 
hoeing to do every day.” 

They walked on as he spoke, and as they passed a 
tree that was filled with fruit Mr. Skinner plucked from 
the branches something that looked like an apple. 
When he bit it, he found that it was but a mass of 
dust. 

‘‘A decent cider apple-tree would be a blessing in 
such a place as this,” he said. 

“ This,” said the goblin, pausing near to one of the 
wanderers in the garden, “ is Thomas of Erceldoune.” 

The man turned as his name was uttered, and Mr. 
Skinner went up, with some vivacity of manner, seized 
his hand and shook it. 

“ Glad to know you ! I’ve met nobody since I came in 
here but my ghostly friend and some others like him, and 
it’s a satisfaction to meet a genuine man.” 

Alas ! ” said Thomas, sadly, “is still another victim 
6 


82 


MA\ SAriNNER^S NIGHT 


added to those who have come here to find endless 
misery ! ” 

“ You don’t take exactly the right view of it,” said Mr. 
Skinner, cheerily, “ I am not a victim. Not a bit of it.” 

Mr. Skinner felt a deep pity in his heart for this 
wretched man. He could not determine clearly whether 
Thomas of Erceldoune was young or old. He looked as 
if he might not have lived more than three decades, and 
yet there was something about him that suggested 
vigorous manhood which had been suddenly stopped in 
its development and kept for untold years precisely at the 
point at which it was when its forces were petrified. The 
air of sadness that he wore was the visible sign of 
despair. From this man’s soul hope had flown for ever 
and for ever. 

“ How long have you been here ? ” asked Mr. 
Skinner. 

“ I do not know. Sometimes I think but a day ; at 
others I seem to have dwelt here for a thousand years. 
It was in the fifteenth century that I left my earthly home 
for the last time.’’ 

“You don’t say.? Why, that’s nearly four hundred 
years ! ” 

“ Yes ; it must be so long.” 

“ How did you get here ? ” 

“I came first to gratify my curiosity. Then I was 
permitted to go back to my home. But I knew that they 
would summon me ; I knew it ! And one day while I 
made merry at a feast with my friends, one came to tell 
me that a hart and a hind were coming up the highway to 
my door. No one but myself perceived that my time had 


IN THE UNDER- WORLD. 


S3 


come. But I was conscious of the meaning of the visit 
of those strange messengers, so I arose and followed them 
away, away, blinded by my tears and my misery, until 
they lead me here.” 

‘‘ Do you know what I would have done if I had been 
you ? ” asked Mr. Skinner. 



“See here, old fellow, cheer up.” 


“ No.” 

Why, well, instead of quitting home I would have 
had vension for supper ” 

‘‘ That is a strange thing to hear in this place ! ” 

“ I know, but I mean it ! See here, old fellow, cheer 


84 


MR. SKINNER'S NIGHT 


up! You’re mistaken if you think I am going to stay in 
here. Indeed I’m not. And if you will come along with 
me, and stick to me, I’ll run you out when I go. I don’t 
know exactly how, but I’ll do it if I say so I ” 

“It cannot be I ” 

“ Oh, come now, that is nonsense ! If I get you off you 
can go over the ocean v/ith me. I’ll settle you on a little 
place somewhere in Atlantic County, make you snug and 
comfortable, and you can start fresh in life. Is it a 
bargain ? ” 

“Impossible!” 

“ 1 don’t know that you care much for politics ; but if 
you come with me to Jersey, and you’re in want of money, 
I could arrange, maybe, to have you run for something — 
the Legislature, or some other paying office, enough to 
make you easy. Let me see ; are you an Irishman ? ” 

“ I am from Scotland.” 

“ Scotch, hey ? Well, that is unfortunate ! You’d 
have a much better chance in my country if you were 
Irish. We Americans think we rule ourselves ; but we 
don’t. The Irish govern us ! But I’ll do the best I can 
for you, so get together your things and come along.” 

But Thomas of Erceldoune did not answer. He hung 
his head, and turning about slowly walked away. 

“ Won’t come, eh ? ” said Skinner. 

The retreating figure shook its head slowly and 
mournfully. 

“ Young man,” called Mr. Skinner, “ you may never 
have another chance like this. It’s the wildest nonsense 
to reject it. You come along with me and we’ll stir up 
this den of goblins so that they’ll be glad to get rid of us 


IN THE UNDER-WORLD. 


85 


at any price. I’ll take you under the protection of the 
American flag, and we’ll see whether anybody will dare to 
hold us! Won’t go? Well, it*s too bad! too bad!” 
and Mr. Skinner looked after the unhappy man, and 
watched him until he disappeared behind the shrubbery. 

“No, he will not go,” said the goblin. “He knows 
better than you do the awful power that holds you both 
in thrall.” 

“ Not both, old gentleman. I see you are still delud- 
ing your^loudy noddle with the idea that I am going to 
stay.” * 

“You will stay,” answered the goblin, “and, as it did 
to Thomas of Erceldoune, so a hundred years will seem 
to you but a swiftly passing day.” 

“ Ah, my venerable friend,” replied Mr. Skinner, “ you 
can’t play that upon me. I have an American lever 
watch and a pocket calendar for the current year. 
There’ll be no time rolling by without my knowing it.” 

“ We shall see,” answered the ghost, with an air of 
not feeling quite so certain about it as he had done 
before. 

“ And, meanwhile,” said Mr. Skinner, “ s’pose we 
push on and complete this exploration. I want to see 
the end of the journey.” 


III. 

The spirit of the Erl-king made no reply, but drifting 
slowly across the garden it entered the portal of what 
seemed to be a vast building of some kind, though so 


86 


MR. SKINNER'S NIGHT 


puzzling and uncertain were its outlines, and so indistinct 
the light that shone about the place, that Mr. Skinner 
could not by most careful scrutiny determine if it was 
really a structure, or a wall of the solid rock hewn into 
symmetrical shape. 

His followed his guide through the doorway, along a 
wide hall which rang beneath his footsteps, and thence 
through another wide portal into a long chamber of such 
height as he could not clearly discern. A table stretched 
from one end of the room to the other, and gathe^4 about 
it was a great host of figures, whose greyish whiteness 
could be perceived without difficulty through the dusky 
atmosphere. 

“ This,” said the goblin, “ is the Hall of Heroes. 
Here are gathered the immortal parts of men whose 
deeds upon earth have made their fame eternal.” 

“ Soldiers, 1 reckon,” said Mr. Skinner. “ Who are 
they .? ” 

“ There,” replied the ghost, “ sits Arthur, and about 
him are gathered the glorious Knights of the Round 
Table. All are there, the true and the false together. 
There is Charlemagne with his warriors, his crown upon 
his head, his good sword by his side. Near to him Red 
Bearded Frederick sits with his six knights. Thrice 
his beard enwraps the stony table in front of him, and 
thrice more still must it unfold it.” 

“Why don’t he shave.?” asked Mr. Skinner, 
calmly. 

“ Here,” said the spectre, not deigning to reply, “the 
three great Tells join with the throng. The legend is 
mat they sleep a mortal sleep within the mountain, 


IN THE UNDER-WORLD. 


37 


But their eyes of sense will never more unclose. And 
• with them are the shades of valiant men of all degrees, 
a company of the mighty and the heroic.” 

“ What are they at ?” asked Mr. Skinner. 

“ It is a festival. They sit here, shadows of their 
ancient selves, but with souls that feel the impulse of the 
former fires, to hold revel and to recount the deeds of the 
wondrous past.” 

“A kind of a dinner party,” suggested Mr. Skinner. 
“ I’d like to join them. I don’t see anything to eat ; but 
I s’pose I am safe to get a spectral steak or a goblin 
chop, and that’s good enough when a man is not 
hungry.” 

“ Beware how you thrust yourself upon these awful 
shades !” said the Erl king. “They will not brook levity 
or familiarity.” 

“ I guess I will sit at the table and look on, anyhow.’ 
And Mr. Skinner, advancing, took a seat tolerably close 
to one of the ghosts, and, assuming an easy attitude, 
observed them. 

There was a murmur of voices among them, but of 
voices such as no tongue ever shaped into words. And 
ever and anon the warriors, who seemed clad cap- k- pie in 
ghostly armour, moved as if to raise beakers to their lips, 
and to drain them to the dregs. Nobody appeared to 
notice Mr. Skinner’s presence ; but after a while that 
gentleman began to display signs of uneasiness, and, pre- 
sently rising, clearing his throat, and looking calmly 
around, he said, as if he were addressing an ordinary 
meeting of mortals : — 

“ Gentlemen, your chairman has not called upon 


88 


MR. SKINNER'S NIGHT 


me to respond to any sentiment, possibly because he’s 
not familiar with the modern custom upon festive occa- 
sions, or perhaps because, not knowing me, he may have 
persuaded himself that I would feel some diffidence in 
addressing such a company. I do not wish to obtrude 
my opinions upon you ; but since my entrance to these 
regions, I have acquired the conviction that it would be 
an act of philanthropy for an intelligent outsider like 
myself to make an effort to freshen up your views a little. 
I intend, therefore, to offer a few remarks, which I trust 
will be received in the spirit of friendliness which moves 
me to present them. 

“Of course, gentlemen, my notions of things must 
inevitably differ widely from yours. You were dead and 
buried hundreds of years ago, and your sympathies are 
largely with a past that was wholly ignorant of matters 
of high importance with which I am perfectly familiar ; 
and I have the additional advantage of still possessing a 
physical body, and not being compelled to stay under- 
ground all day, and to go out only at night, and even 
then presenting the appearance of having been sliced out 
of a fog-bank.” 

Here the Erl-king cautioned Mr. Skinner not to go on. 
But he continued : 

“ Without going deeply into the work of contrasting 
the methods of your time with the methods of mine, I 
may be permitted to remark upon the oddity of the cir- 
cumstance that while individual soldiers of your age 
encased themselves with iron stov'e-plates and helmets, 
the vaporous semblance of which you now wear, we have 
adapted such means of protection only to ships, with the 


IN THE UNDER-WORLD. 


89 


result that the chief purpose of the existence of a portion 
of mankind just now is to make ships that no existing 
gun can penetrate, and when that is done, to invent a 
gun that can sink that ship. 

“ The point of interest is that men are still as busy 
killing each other as they were when you were around ; 
and that while we are proud to pity the ignorance and 
folly which characterized you when you spent your lives 
in fighting, we have not become so wise as to perceive 
that to settle a quarrel by shooting men with a revolving 
cannon is not any more sensible than to chop them up 
with axes and to brain them with clubs, as you folks used 
to do.” 

The Erl-king hinted to Mr. Skinner that he was 
touching a delicate subject ; but the speaker pro- 
ceeded : — 

“ However, the matter to which I wished principally 
to allude interests you more directly. I say, frankly, that 
until I dropped in here, I never had any solid faith in the 
reality of ghosts. I regarded the whole thing as a mass 
of superstition. I see now that I was wrong. But having 
confessed this much, I think I ought to say to you, who 
probably have some influence over the affairs of your kind, 
that the sooner some one of you starts an energetic reform 
movement in the ghost business, the better will be the 
result. Gentlemen, I am a practical man — a utilitarian, 
if you will ; and I must say that it grieves me, when I 
look around upon this grave and dignified company, to 
think of the ridiculous character of the methods in which 
you manifest yourselves to mankind. If I were a goblin, 
and I retained a particle of my self-respect, I would keep 


90 


MR. SKINNERS S NIGHT 


away from graveyards at night ; I would refrain from 
haunting houses, and prowling about, making noises to 
scare timid women and children ; I would refuse to come 
out at so-called spiritual seances and thrum diabolical 
music upon cracked guitars, and tilt tables at the tedding 
of long-haired and wild-eyed mediums. If a ghost who 
has been respectable in life cannot put in his spare time 
in the outer world in better ways than these, my advice to 
him is to stay in the bowels of the earth right along, and 
to let honest people alone.” 

The Erl-king mentioned to Mr. Skinner that they 
must move on at once. But Mr. Skinner said that he 
would close in a moment. 

“ Apart from the silliness of such proceedings, gentle- 
men, they are disgustingly useless. Now, if I were a 
ghost I would use my powers to reveal to living men 
truths that would be of service to them — such as know- 
ledge of the spiritual state, and information, perhaps, as 
to the location of veins of coal, of the metals, and so 
forth ; or, if these things were forbidden, I would rent 
myself out for exhibition for the benefit of good objects of 
various kinds. A genuine ghost, for example, could 
always find employment when Hamlet or Macbeth is 
performed at the theatres ; and if you can flit about with 
the rapidity commonly attributed to you, some of you 
might earn good wages carrying messages for persons to 
places which the telegraph does not reach.” 

The Erl-king said that there would be danger in speak- 
ing further ; but Mr. Skinner added ; 

One word more. You hold in wicked bondage down 
here in the garden a lot of people who have a right to 


IN THE UNDER-WORLD. 


91 


their liberty. Now, what good it does you, or the head 
person who governs this place, to practise cruelty of that 
kind, I can’t imagine. My opinion is that you ought to 
let them go, and to give them each a pocketful of the 



“While Mr. Skinner was speaking, the assembly sat in 
profound silence .” — Page 92. 

jewellery I saw back here a piece, for damages done to 
them. If you don’t agree to this I intend as soon as I 
return to my hotel to get out a writ of habeas corpais, if 
such a thing is to be had in the German Empire ; and 


92 


MR. SKINNER'S NIGHT 


most likely, if there is any fuss made about it, I will 
organize a railroad to run along here, and I will have a 
locomotive whizzing through this mountain in a way that 
will rnake you wish you could die again ! That is all 1 
have to say. I am obliged to you for your attention ; and 
if any of you ever want to communicate with me don’t 
hunt up a medium, but come direct to me at Squan, New 
Jersey, in the day-time, and if the light annoys you we’ll 
have a comfortable talk in the cellar or the smoke-house.” 

While Mr. Skinner was speaking the assembly sat in 
profound silence, and upon some of the faces could be 
detected a look of bewildered amazement. When he 
finished, he said politely : 

‘‘ Good morning,” and turned to go. 

“ How do you think it struck them 1 ” asked Mr. 
Skinner of his companion. 

‘‘ You are a marvellous man, and a bold one,” replied 
the spectre, almost timidly. “ I thought they would rend 
you in pieces. Strange ! Strange ! that such things 
should happen within these realms ! ” 

I told you I’d give you some new ideas,” said Mr. 
Skinner ; “ and now, which way are we going 

“Straight forward.” 

“ And what then .? ” 

“ Soon you will be ushered into the splendid court of 
Aphrodite, the mistress of these realms, and the power 
whom you and I and all must obey.” 

“ A ghost, is she ? ’’ 

“ A being of transcendent and wondrous loveliness.” 

“ Well, let me know before I get there, for I should 
like to fix myself up a little.” 


IN THE UNDER-WORLD. 


93 


They pressed onward through a succession of apart- 
ments, each of which was more magnificent than that 
which preceded it, until they entered a chamber that was 
adorned with strange, but beautiful objects. 

“ That,” said the guide, is a plant which gives to him 
who possesses it the power to ward off evil spirits. He 
who looks in this mirror sees all his future life in full 
detail depicted before him. The water of yonder bubb- 
ling fountain compels complete forgetfulness of the past. 
He who eats of the fruit that lies upon this table gains 
such vision that he can see the riches that are hidden in the 
bosom of the earth. Here are gathered all the resources 
of magic, and all the marvels that men have dreamed of 
when they have thought to pierce the veil that shuts out 
the supernatural from the natural.” 

“ When you get tired of making an inventory of the 
effects,” said Mr. Skinner, “ perhaps you will come along.” 

“ We are now,” said the goblin, reverently, “ upon the 
threshold of the throne-room of the glorious Aphrodite. 
Through that doorway we shall be ushered into her 
majestic presence.” 

“ Wait a minute, then.” And Mr. Skinner, unslinging 
his satchel, placed it upon the table, among the fruit that 
improved the eyesight, and began rummaging in its 
depths. A moment later he took out a clean collar and 
a hair-brush. Placing himself before the mirror of life 
to come, he untied his cravat, removed his shirt-collar, 
put it carefully in his satchel, buttoned on the fresh one, 
tied his cravat, gave it two or three pats with his fingers, 
and then surveyed it with a look of satisfaction. Then 
taking off his hat, he smoothed his hair with the brush. 


94 


MR. SKINNERS S MiG Hi 


When the operation was completed he returned the brush 
to the satchel, snapped the catch, resumed his hat, and, 
turning to the goblin, who observed him with what 
seemed feelings of horror, he said, ‘‘Now I am ready. 
Shall we go right in ? ” 

The shade of the E*rl-king approached the door, which 
swung slowly and 
silently upon its 
hinges. Mr. Skin- 
ner followed the 
goblin through the 
portal. 

The scene upon 
which he was ush- 
ered transcended in 
dazzling splendour 
anything that he 
had ever witnessed. 

He saw a vast tem- 
ple, whose walls 
were massive slabs 
of gold and pearl, 
covered by some 
cunning hand with 
grotesque but beautiful designs of elaborate work- 
manship. Huge pillars of sapphire and emerald rose 
from the floor and swept upwards to a roof of snowy 
crystal, through which a clear, soft radiance poured in a 
flood which made every nook and corner of the apart- 
ment as, bright as though the noonday sun looked in 
upon it. 



IN THE UNDER- WORLD. 


95 


The floor was of onyx, laid in a wondrous pattern, 
such as no human mind has ever devised. The doors were 
made of ebony, inlaid with silver ; and, at intervals, there 
stood tables of carved ivory, of amethyst, of frosted gold, 
and chairs of porphyry, and chrysolite, and sardius. 
Great mirrors of burnished silver hung from the walls, 
and before them tiny fountains leaped into the air, and 
fell into jewelled basins. Upon all sides there were 
riches, beauty, magnificence, and exquisite art, such as 
no treasure-house upon earth ever presented to the eye 
of man. 

At the end of the room, beneath a canopy bespangled 
with gems, two golden thrones were placed, and, sitting 
upon one of these, the visitor saw a woman, so fair, so 
noble, so crowned with a matchless and wonderful beauty, 
that he thought all the loveliness of woman that he had ever 
looked upon was but as deformity in comparison with it. 
She was clad in a snowy ^obe of gossamer fineness, and 
of most delicate grace ; and upon her forehead glistened 
a diadem of jewels of surpassing splendour. About her, 
as she sat, were gathered a court of other women, 
scarcely less beautiful, and, as the visitor approached 
them, he heard strains of music of piercing sweetness, 
which swelled and throbbed through the crystal arches 
with vibrations which the ear might have heard for ever 
and for ever without satiety. 

As the visitor came nearer, it seemed to him that that 
glorious company had been expecting him, for, when the 
Erl-king said to him, “This is Aphrodite, the Queen,” 
she upon the throne smiled graciously upon him, and 
gave him hearty welcome to her court, while those who 


96 


MR. SKINNER- S NIGHT 


surrounded her echoed her words, and appeared eager to 
do him honour. 

“All very well,” said Mr. Skinner, to himself ; “but 
how about Tanhaiiser, and Thomas of Erceldoune, and 
the other poor wretches in the garden 1 I have no doubt 
that they were received in the same manner.” 

“We have waited for you,” said the Queen, most 
graciously, “ and we rejoice that you have come to dwell 
with us. Happy is the mortal who is permitted to linger 
in the company of the immortals ! ” And she extended 
to him her white hand, that he might kiss it. 

Mr. Skinner grasped it, shook it warmly, and said, 

“Thank you, madame; you are very kind. I was 
travelling through the neighbourhood, outside here, and I 
thought Td just drop in. But I can’t stay. Sorry ; but I 
have an engagement in Berlin on the twenty-second.” 

“ When you have tasted the delights of this realm you 
will not wish to go. The world from which you come 
has nothing to offer that can rival the fascinations of 
this.” 

“Well, madame, tastes differ, you know. This is 
gorgeous, and elegant, and all that ; but, as a steady 
thing, 1 really think I should prefer Squan.” 

“ Sit here,” said the Queen, pointing to the throne 
by her side. “It is the place of honour — it is yours. 
The greatest men of your race have longed to occupy it ; 
some have done so, and counted it the highest plea- 
sure.” 

“ It’s handsome, that’s certain,” replied Mr. Skinner, 
running his hand over the golden carvings. “ Handsome, 
but I must say that I’ve seen furniture that would beat it 


IN THE UNDER- WO RED. 


97 

for comfort. Now I wonder that, instead of sitting about 
on a hard yellow affair like this, you don’t order a few 
stuffed chairs, for common use ? There’s a cabinet- 
maker, near where I live, that would get you up a dozen 
with springs for almost nothing, and be glad of the 
chance.” 

“ You,” said the Queen, laughingly, “ are the only guest 
who ever thought our temple less than faultless.” 

“Well, madame, I’m a prosy sort of a man, who 
always looks at the practical side of things. Now, do 
you know what I would do if I owned this place ? ” 

“ I cannot tell.” 

“ Why, I would rig up some kind of a stove, and keep 
a coal fire going, to take off the chill. It must be dread- 
fully damp, underground here.” 

The Queen and her maids of honour laughed merrily 
at this, and Mr. Skinner thereupon added, 

“ The best thing that I find here is a little good- 
humour. My friend, the Erl-king, here is much too 
solemn to be an agreeable companion. A week with 
him would make me melancholy for life.” 

“You shall always be merry here,” replied the Queen, 
with a sweet smile. “ These are the realms of joy, and 
I will give you a better companion than your guide. 
Which of these will you choose to be your partner 
through all the years to come ? ” And she waved her 
hand toward the throng which stood around her. 

‘‘ None of them, madame ! 

“What! None.?” 

“ Excuse me, madame, but I don’t think you compre- 
hend the existing state of things. I am a married 
7 


98 


MR. SKINNER’S NIGHT 


already. In my home, far across the sea, I have a wife 
whom I love. She is not so handsome as these, maybe, 
but her homeliness is not actually alarming ; and when it 
comes to housekeeping and plain cooking, she has no 
equal from the Hudson River to the Capes, if I do say it 
myself. While she lives I intend to stick to her.” 

Mr. Skinner was gratified to perceive that his remarks, 
uttered with some warmth, did not give offence. A ripple 
of laughter swept over the crowd. 

“You have not much love for the beautiful, I think,” 
said the Queen. 

“ Oh yes, madame. When ^t comes to good looks, 
this place takes the palm, without a doubt. I was aware 
of that I have often seen statues of you, out in the world. 
A little scarce of clothes, if you will pardon me for saying 
so, but uncommonly handsome ; everybody admits 
that” 


“ Men praise me, do they ” asked Aphrodite. 

“ Oh, yes ! Of course. In the matter of personal 
appearance, I mean. My guide-book, which I was reading 
over at the hotel throws out an insinuation that there is a 
little too much paganism down here for Europe in the 
nineteenth century ; but in the country that I come from 
we don’t meddle with people’s religious opinions.” 

The Queen made no response. 

“ I do think, though,” continued Mr. Skinner, passing 
one leg thoughtlessly over the arm of the throne and 
speaking reflectively, “ th^ it might not be a bad idea 
to .^organize a missionary movement in these parts. 
Therms Elder Cooper of the Barnegat Meeting ; he has a 
pow/"’-^' J gift as a persuader, and if you’d allow him to get 


IN THE UNDER-WORLD. 


99 


up a revival-meeting in here somewhere, there is no telling 
what might happen,’’ 

“ We will not speak of that! ” replied the Queen in a 
tone of light displeasure. 

“ Beg pardon if I was rude ? The thought occurred 
to me, and I expressed it frankly without meaning to hurt 
anybody’s feelings.” 

As he spoke he was surprised to see a great throng of 
children come running into the apartment. They gath ered 
close about him and gazed at him with childish wonder. 
Mr. Skinner looked into their faces, and while it was 
clear that they really were children, it seemed to him 
that there was something about them which told of 
more years than their stature counted. They had all 
the signs of youth, and yet he could not rid himself 
of an impression that their youth had left them long 
centuries ago. 

As they ranged themselves before him, he said to the 
Queen, — 

“ Your’s madame ? ” 

“ Oh no ! these are the little ones who left their homes 
in Hameln to follow the music of the Pied Piper.” 

“ Seems to me I have heard something about it,” 
observed Mr. Skinner ; “how long ago was it ?” 

“ Six centuries have passed since they came trooping 
into the mountain behind the Piper. One hundred and 
thirty of them came, and they are all here I ” 

“ Well, well ! ” replied Mr. Skinner, “ it’s mighty 
queer, and sad too. How do you treat them ? ” 

“We love them.” 

“ Do you educate them ? No academies down here, I 


lOO 


MR. SKINNERS S NIGHT 


’spose ? Never 'et them go to S’unday school ? Would 
you mind then if I asked a few questions ? ” 

“ You shall do so.” 

Mr. Skinner stood up. 

“ Put your hands behind your backs, children ; that’s 
it ; now hold up your heads and look straight at me. 
What is the capital of Indiana ? Speak right out ! 
Nobody knows.? How is Ireland bounded? Come, 
answer ! Don’t know ? Well, I declare ! How many 
are four and eight ? ” 

The children stood silent, and eyed Mr. Skinner almost 
mournfully. 

“ Well, now,” he proceeded to say, “ let me try you in 
spelling. Can you spell ‘Baker’ for me? Begin! 
‘ B — ! ’ Go on I B-a- b-a-. Somebody try it I Can’t 
do it ? I was afraid not Can you spell ‘ Boy ’ ? Begins 
with a B, like the other ! Don’t know that either I ” 

The Queen said that they knew nothing of earthly 
things. 

“Well, madame, permit me to say that it’s a blamed 
shame the way the education of these children has been 
neglected. You want a schoolmistress down here worse 
than you want a parson. That’s my opinion, and I don’t 
care who knows it ! ” 

Mr. Skinner found himself getting angry and warm. 
Opening his satchel, he took out a package and said : 

“ Children, here’s some candy for you. Hardly 
enough to go around, but it’s all I have, and there is no 
confectionery store handy. I’d give you some money to 
buy fire-crackers, too, only I know you’d never have a 
chance to spend it ! ” 


IN THE UNDER-WORLD. 


lol 


“You love little children, I perceive,” said Aphrodite. 

“ I do. I love them too well to like to see them poked 
underground alive, and kept there six or seven hundred 
years. It is a great wrong.** 

“ They are very happy here.” 

“ Well, maybe they are ; but it’s not the fair thing. 
I’ll tell you what I’ll do. You turn the whole batch over 
to me, and I’ll take them along, and either bind them out 
or stow them away in an orphan asylum, where they will 
be decently brought up. Is it a bargain ?” 

“We cannot part with them.” 

“ Who takes care of them ? Who washes and dresses 
them, and fixes them up ? You have no servants ? No ? 
I hardly thought you could persuade nursery maids to live 
underground here. That is the only advantage you have 
that I can see.” 

“What.?” 

“No bother with the servant-girl question. It pesters 
the life out of women up above. The hired girl we had 
just before 1 left home,” said Mr. Skinner, with an absent 
look upon his face, as if his mind was contemplating some 
curious experience of the past, “ parted with us because 
we complained of her frying the oysters in Mrs. Skinner’s 
pomatum.” 

Aphrodite did not seem especially interested in this 
fragment of domestic history, and she motioned for the 
children to go. As Mr. Skinner watched them moving 
away, he said, putting his hand in the satchel : 

“ I just happened to think that I had a bottle of cough 
medicine along with me, that might be useful to the 
little ones. You are welcome to it if you want it.” 


102 


MR. SKINNERS S NIGHT 


Her Majesty apparently did not hear him, for she gave 
a signal, and again the hall was filled with the rapturous 
music that he had heard a brief while before. Instantly 
the floor was filled with beautiful dancers, who whirled 
about in riotous fuiy through a dance, which became 
wilder and wilder as it proceeded. Mr. Skinner observed 
the performance in silence. 

“ Is it not beautiful ?” asked the Queen. 

“ Beautiful, ’’ replied Mr. Skinner ; “ but a little too 
violent for my taste.” 

Shall you not join them ? ” 

“ I am obliged to you ; but it is with the utmost 
difficulty that I manage to hobble through a plain 
cotillion. Round dances Pm opposed to. If I should 
step in there I should be so giddy in a minute that I could 
not stand. Your music is fine though. Who attends to 
that for you ? ” 

“ The Pied Piper ; his real name is Orpheus.” 

“ Ah ! I’m not a very good judge, although I know 
the best from the worst. I am a subscriber to the 
Bamegat Brass Band, down where I live ; and that organ- 
ization took the first prize at a brass band tournament at 
Newark last summer. Some think it is superior; but I 
dont know. I have always had my doubts about it.” 

Music is ever beautiful,” said the Queen. 

“W’ell, possibly, your experiences have been more 
favourable than mine. Sometimes when the band comes 
'Out serenading at night I incline to think that the art is 
overrated. Do you sing?” 

“ No ; I listen to others.” 

“ Pm not much of a singer myself,” said Mr. Skinner, 


IN THE UNDER-WORLD. 


103 


prodding an emerald tile in the pavement, absently, with 
the ferule of his umbrella ; “ but when I am at home I 
do sometimes turn a tune in the privacy of my family.” 

“ Will you sing for me ? Oh, I know you will ! ” ex- 
claimed the Queen. 

Mr. Skinner had a feeling of diffidence for the first 
time since he entered the mountain. 

“Well, madame, I would like to oblige you, but to 
tell the truth, I — my voice is so poor that — ” 

“ You will not refuse me ? ” 

“ But I am such a poor singer, that I know you will 
not be pleased,” and Mr. Skinner laughed a nervous 
little laugh. 

“ I am sure you will try, will you not ? ” said Aphro- 
dite. 

“ Well, if you insist on it, I s'pose I must,” replied 
Mr. Skinner. “ Let me see,” said he, rubbing his chin 
and looking thoughtfully up at the ceiling ; “ I only know 
one piece, and not much of that. How does it begin?” 
and Mr. Skinner cleared his throat vehemently, twice. 
Meanwhile the entire company of dancers, and all the 
lovely maids of honour had gathered in front of him 
awaiting with interest the performance. Mr. Skinner 
felt himself getting uncomfortably warm. He cleared 
his throat again, and said ; 

“ ril do the best I can ; it begins in this way : ‘ On 
jor — dan’s stor — my — y ba— a — anks I stand. And cast 

’ Wait a minute. I have not got the right pitch. 

That’s too high. Let me try again: ‘On Jor— dan’s 

stor my — y ba — a — nks I stand. And cast a ’ That 

won’t do ; it’s too low. Once more : ‘ On Jor— dan’s 


104 


MR. SKINNER- S NIGHT 


stor — my — y ba — a — anks I — I stand, And cast a — a 
wistful eye, To Ca — a — nyan’s fair and ha — a — appyland, 
Where my — y possessions li — i — ie.’ ” 

As Mr. Skinner stopped he observed that everybody 
looked very solemn, and he thought the room somehow 
had lost some of the brilliant light that had filled it. fie 
was conscious that he had not made a very favourable 
impression as a vocalist, and in a kind of desperation he 
yielded to an impulse to try again. 

“ I think probably I can do that a little better if you 
will bear with me : ‘On Jor — dan’s stor — my— y 
ba — a — nks I ’ ” 

Before he could complete the line, a sudden pall of 
darkness fell upon the splendid scene before him ; he felt 
a mighty rush of wind upon his face, and then he was 
whirled around and around with the greatest violence. 
He seemed for an instant to lose consciousness, and when 
he opened his eyes they looked straight upward at the 
serene beauty of the blue sky. 

He found that he was lying flat upon his back upon 
the plateau to which he had come yesterday evening. 
Beside him lay his umbrella and his satchel. Above him 
the sun was shining brightly, about him the cool breeze 
rustled the leaves upon the trees, while the music of the 
birds was wafted to him from the neighbouring forest. 
He thought that the fair earth and the sunshine and all 
the things that Nature presented to the eye had never 
seemed so beautiful. 

How did he get here? That was almost the first 
question that thrust itself upon his bewildered mind. 
Was it the sacred nature of the words that he had tried 


IN THE UNDER- WORLD. 


to sing that had offended his audience, or was it the 
atrocious character of his vocalization. He could not 
tell. He felt that he would give a moderate sum of 
money to ascertain. 

He looked out over the edge of the plateau, and there, 
beneath him was the town. He could see the people 
moving about in the streets, and there was a crowd in 
front of his hotel. Perhaps they were discussing his 
adventure and wondering what his fate could be. What 
should he tell them t The more he thought about it, the 
less certain did he feel of the reality of the strange and 
weird scenes through which he had passed. The im- 
pression of their actuality was strong upon his mind, but 
could he say absolutely and positively that he had not 
dreamed it all ? He had a decided impulse to scoff at the 
idea. The Erl-king, the ghosts, and the children, the 
man to whom he talked in the garden, surely he had 
encountered them and talked with them ! But did not 
his common sense revolt at the theory that he had be'en 
tumbled into the cavern and tumbled- out again without 
knowing how or by whose hands ! 

His perplexity increased as he reflected upon the 
matter. Then, suddenly, he thought of the talk he had 
heard about one hundred years in the mountain passing 
as swiftly as a single night ; was it possible that this had 
happened to him 1 He looked at his watch. It marked 
six o’clock. That proved nothing. The scenery about 
him, and particularly the town looked the same as they 
had done when he last saw them. He determined to go 
down to the hotel and satisfy his mind. 

When he reached the hotel he assured himself that 


I06 MR, SKINNER IN THE UNDER-WORLD. 


only one night had passed. Upon reflection Mr. Skinner 
resolved not to speak of the matter to any of the other 
people about the view, but to keep his own counsel ; and 
to this day he cannot positively say whether he followed 
Tanhaiiser into the mountain or merely had a tremendous 
nightmare upon the outside of that eminence. 








OSHUA HAMMER sat in a rustic arm- 
chair, upon his porch, with his feet resting 
upon the railing in front of him at a greater 
elevation than his head. 

It would be interesting if some curious 
scientific person should inquire why it is that a 
man, an American especially, never sits with per- 
fect comfort unless his legs are extended in the direction 
of the planetary system. There is a bare possibility 
that the propensity to rest in this manner may be the 
lingering trace of the habit our remote simian ancestors 
had of hanging with arms and legs from the branches of 
trees. The suggestion is offered, with proper respect, to 
the preachers of the doctrines of Evolution. 

Mr. Joshua Hammer’s porch completely surrounded a 
large and comfortable dwelling-house which stood, one 


io8 


MISS HAMMER'S LOVERS. 


story high, in the midst of a coffee plantation, in one of 
the most beautiful portions of the Republic of Nica- 
ragua, Central America. Mr. Hammer was an American, 
a native of New Jersey. Finding the road to wealth at 
home full of exceedingly formidable obstacles, he had 
invested his savings in a fertile tract in Nicaragua, 
planted hundreds of coffee-trees, built himself a fine 
house, and begun to accumulate riches. His wife was 
dead. His domestic matters were cared for by his 
daughter, Irene, his only child, and a singularly hand- 
some girl. At the moment of which we write, Mr. Ham- 
mer had staying with him, as a guest, Miss Sarah 
Appleby, his sister-in-law, the sister of his dead wife. 

Mr. Hammer sat upon the porch reading a huge 
volume that was bound in sheepskin. It seemed to 
interest him deeply, for his eyes were fixed upon the 
page, and occasionally, as he read, he would pass his 
hand, in an anxious sort of way, over some portion of his 
body, as if he were feeling the motion of an internal 
organ, and was apprehensive of a fatal interruption of the 
performance of its functions. 

Before he had finished his perusal of the volume, a 
tall man, with hair and beard of a reddish hue, and mani- 
festly not a native of the region, ascended the steps to 
the porch, and said — 

“ Good morning, Mr. Hammer ! ” 

Mr: Hammer removed his feet from the railing, closed 
his book upon his thumb, and rose to welcome his visitor. 

Halloa, Knox ! Glad to see you ! Walk up, and 
take a chair. By the way, Knox, it is lucky you came. 
Where is your thoracic duct ? ” 


M/SS HAMMERS S LOVERS. 1 09 

“ I have it with me ; I always carry it,” observed 
Knox, without the faintest glimmer of a smile. 

“ Oh, I know ; but what I want to ascertain is, where 
you carry it ? ” 

“ Why, herCy^ said Knox, pointing to his chest. “ It 
extends from here to here, and — ’ 

“ That’s enough ! that’s all that is necessary. Hang 
it, old fellow, do you know I believe something is the 
matter with my thoracic duct ! I never dreamed of such 
a thing until this morning ; in fact, 1 hardly think I knew 
I had a machine of that name inside of me ; but I got 
to reading about it and its diseases in this medical book, 
here, and every time a new symptom was described I 
thought I could detect it.” 

“Your imagination is too active,” said Knox. 

“ I don’t know, may be it is. 1 really have an idea 
that it’s not wholesome for me to read medical works. 
When I look over an article on functional derangement of 
the liver, it seems to describe my liver with painful exact- 
ness ; when I read up on the diseases of the heart, I feel 
as if mine might collapse at any moment ; if 1 study up 
in certain bones, they begin at once to ache ; if I read 
about scarlet -fever, or yellow-fever, or cerebro-spinal- 
meningitis, I get a notion that I am a victim of each 
malady in turn, and that if I don’t put myself under 
treatment at once I am a goner.” 

“ That is not an uncommon experience,” said Knox, 
laughing. “ But why do you read such books t ” 

“ Well, you see, Irene, she has a queer kind of fond- 
ness for them ; has a taste for medical science, I really 
believe ; and 1 bought a lot of authorities to please hei\ 


no 


MISS HAMMER ^S LOVERS. 


She can tell you more about bones and membranes and 
thoracic ducts in a minute than I could learn in a week.” 

“ I am glad she shows some partiality for the medical-r 
profession,” said Knox. “The fact makes me a little 
more hopeful.” 

“ Hopeful of what ? ” 

“ Why, you see, Mr. Hammer, I called this morning 
to tell you that I have a notion to marry Irene, if I can 
get your consent.” 

“ But, has ske consented ? ” 

“ Well, not exactly ; but it amounts to the same thing. 
She said, when I asked her, that she wouldn’t tell me that 
she loved me better than any one else in the world, but 
she would admit that she was extremely partial to doc- 
tors ; and you know that I am the only physician around 
here .” 

“ Humph !” said Mr. Hammer rubbing his chin. “ I’m 
not so sure about that. How about Sandoval ? He has 
been coming here to see Irene a good deal lately.” 

“You don’t class him among respectable physicians, I 
hope?” demanded Knox. “He is only a wretched little 
quack.” / 

“ I don’t know ; I don’t notice that he kills any more 
patients than you do.” 

It was a quarrel in which a prudent man like Mr. 
Hammer did not care to take a decided part. Tecumseh 
Knox, of Ohio, while studying medicine in Philadelphia, 
formed a close friendship with a student from Nicaragua 
with the unreasonable name of Diego Mendoza y Herrara 
De Leon Gomez Maria Sandoval ; and when the- two 
graduated, Knox, having no prospect of finding a district 


MISS HAMMER'S LOVERS. 


Ill 


unequipped with a physician which he could devastate 
while learning the practical part of his profession, was 
easily persuaded by his friend Sandoval, whom he ad- 
dressed continually as “Sandy,” that an attempt to 
interfere with the death-rate of Nicaragua might afford 
profitable employment to more than one enterprising man, 
and so he accompanied Sandoval to the home of the latter 
in that State. 

The two remained upon the best of terms for several 
years, until a day came when Sandoval announced him- 
self a convert to the principles of homoeopathy, and 
began to attack the diseases of his patients with infini- 
tesimal doses. Then Tecumseh Knox swore eternal 
hatred to him ; for the human heart knows no animosity 
so bitter as that with which the allopath regards the 
homoeopath. And when Sandoval subsequently entered 
political life, Knox at once joined the party that was in 
opposition to the Sandoval party, and the two organiza- 
tions went at each other, tooth and claw, with a new fury 
born of the antagonistic medical theories infused into 
them. 

Sandoval, Just now, happened to be President of the 
Republic. It occurred to him one night that the neigh- 
bourhood was so healthy and the collection of bills so 
difficult, that there might be more profit in governing the 
Republic : so he had a private interview with General 
P'lynn, Commander-in-Chief of the army, and his argu- 
ir ents, for some reason, were so powerful with the General, 
that Sandoval was able to issue a fiery pronun ciamento, 
and to summon the army to his assistance while he went 
around and “ cleaned out ” the administration. 


II2 


MISS HAMMER'S LOVERS. 


“ He is nothing but a mean little quack,” said Knox, 
to Mr. Hammer. Don’t call that creature a physician. 
I beg of you ! ” 

“Well, anyhow, I think he has a hankering after 
Irene, and if she chooses to regard him as orthodox in 
his views, I don’t see exactly what we are going to do 
about it. Besides, he is a President, you know. That 
counts for something.” 

“ If Irene thinks so I’ll run him out before morning ! 
I can scare up a revolution in this Republic in twenty 
minutes at any time,” said Knox. “ President ! Why, 
I’ll go round and evacuate the office with the toe of my 
boot if Irene wants political glory.” 

“ All right,” said Mr. Hammer, “ I don’t care anything 
about it myself. Irene must settle it. I’ll give my bless- 
ing to whichever one of you she chooses to take. I’d 
rather have you, because you’re an American ; but 
Sandy’s not a bad fellow for a son-in-law. He will suit 
me if he will suit Irene.” 

“ That’s enough,” said Knox. “ That is all I can ask. 
You say that Irene is mine if she will take me. I’ll soon 
settle that matter. And now I’ll say good morning.” 

As Dr. Knox withdrew, Miss Appleby came out upon 
the porch and sat down in one of the chairs. _ 

“That man, Sarah,” said Mr. Hammer, “wants to 
marry Irene.” 

“ He does, does he ? Well, I trust she won't have 
him ! You didn’t encourage him, I hope ? ” 

“ No ; I encourage nobody. Irene shall marry accord- 
ing to her own taste. So far as I am concerned my plan 
}s to keep on good terms with everybody. Sandoval is 


MISS HAMMER *S LOVERS. 


I13 


in power to-day, and he throws off my taxes because he 
wants my influence. To-morrow Knox may be in his 
place, and what I want is to get Knox into such a frame 
of mind that he will keep my taxes off. I’m for the 
government, no matter who heads it. When the govern- 
ment refuses to help me, I shall get up a little private revo- 
lution of my own, and help myself to the government.” 

“ I hope Irene will never marry a doctor,” said Miss 
Appleby. “ I hate doctors.” 

“They are useful sometimes, Sarah.” 

“Yes, useful to undertakers and tombstone people. 
How does a doctor know what’s the matter with a man, 
when he can’t see into him? If he could take a lantern, 
and crawl down and explore him, he might do some good.” 

“ Sometimes they make cures, though.” 

“ How often ? There was Mrs. Martinez ; she was 
taken with chills ; they called in a doctor. Where is Mrs. 
Martinez now ? I don’t know where she is, but she isn’t 
v/here she ought to be. There was Diaz’s coloured man ; 
he was a little bilious. The doctor was sent for, and 
now he is an angel — that is, of course, if there arg 
coloured angels. And Mrs. Alvarado ; look how she 
went ! Right healthy and well, excepting a pain in her 
shoulder. The doctor dosed her, and off sAe went into a 
better world ; I hope she did anyhow.” 

“And Lerdo’s Jim, too.” 

“Yes, Lerdo’s Jim; took a few pills, and the next 
thing he knew he was flitting into the hereafter. Been 
alive now, if the doctors had let him alone. And Mr. 
Velasquez, and Mr. Alvarado, and Miss Mendez, and the 
two Escobedo girls, and old Mrs. Gadara — what’s become 
8 


MISS HAMMERS S LOVERS. 


of all of them, I want to know? Why, theyVe been 
hustled into the tomb by doctors ! That’s where they are. 
Don’t tell me ! ” 

■ “ Irene doesn’t seem to dislike them as much as you do. 
I think she is rather fond of studying medicine herself.” 

“ I know she is ; and, Joshua, you take my advice, and 
repress the propensity ! This morning she put her arms 
around my neck, and pretended to be affectionate ; but 
I was suspicious, and when I pressed her, she confessed 
that she was examining my jugular vein ! She said she 
wished she could bleed me ! Wished she could bleed her 
aunt ! I tell you, Joshua, it is simply murderous ! ” 

“ She never wanted to bleed me.” 

..“No; but, Joshua, I strongly suspect that she has 
more than once mixed mild doses of medicine with your 
tea so as to try the effect.” . 

“ Maybe that is what is the matter with my thoracic 
duct.” 

“ I have no doubt of it ! Irene means well, but she is 
far too enthusiastic. Last Tuesday she gave the cook 
some medicine for spasms that sent the girl bounding 
about the kitchen floor like a rubber ball. 1 had to sii 
down on her to stop her Irene stood calmly by, and 
said it was ‘very interesting.’ I’m afraid she’ll poison 
us all some day — accidentally, of course ; but it will be no 
comfort to me, when Tm dead, to know that Irene didn’t 
mean any harm.” 

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of 
Irene with a person in military dress, whom she intro- 
duced to her aunt, and whom her father welcomed, as 
General Flynn. 


.1 



** Sent the girl bounding about like a rubber ball.” — 114. 





1 1 6 MISS HAMMER LO VERS. 


General Terence Flynn was Commander-in-Cr.ir i of 
the army of the Republic. He was small in stature, and 
not remarkably good looking. His hair was sandy and 
rather thin ; and an accident of some kind had broken 
the bridge of his nose, and given that feature a peculiar 
twitch to the left, so that if the General had made up his 
mind to “ follow his nose ” through life^ he would have 
been turning corners perpetually. 

General Flynn was the son of an Irishman who came 
to America twenty years before the period of this narra- 
tive, and who had engaged in the business of mixing 
mortar with a hoe. Terence was sent to a public school, 
and after finishing his education he made an ineffectual 
attempt to study law. Then he shipped as a sailor before 
the mast, and when he had knocked about the world for a 
few years, he sailed one day into a Central American port 
as first mate of a schooner. Having quarrelled with the 
captain, he resigned his position and went to Nicaragua, 
where, in a year or two, he mastered the language, and 
plunged into the peculiar politics of the country with 
hearty enthusiasm. 

One of the Presidents, whom he had helped into office, 
gave him command of the army. As the commander of 
the army, usually, was the only man in the country of 
whom the rulers were afraid, and as General Flynn was 
just the kind of a person to recognize a particularly good 
thing when he had it, he proposed to himself to retain the 
position during the remainder of his life. 

“ I met the General a moment ago,” said Irene, as 
the party sat down , “ and he was so kind as to offer to 
accompany me home.” 


MISS BAMMEK 'S LOVERS, 


117 


And no soldier ever performed more agreeable escort 
service,” said the General, gallantly* 

“ The General was good enough,” said Irene, “ to 
give me some information that I wanted, and I asked him 
to come in and finish the conversation.” 

“ What she wanted,” said the General to Mr. Hammer, 
“ was to know if, during my experience upon the battle- 
field, I ever witnessed a compound fracture of the tibiaB 

“ Did you ?” asked Miss Appleby. 

“ No, ma’am. I have fought thirty-four battles in this 
Republic, but in the whole of them only eight men have 
been wounded, and one man killed.” 

“ What killed him?” 

“ He was bitten by a double-nosed pointer belonging 
to the enemy, and the bite mortified. The Nicaraguan 
soldier, as a rule, has an overpowering aversion to getting 
hurt. He hates a war with real bullets.” 

“ But you were wounded yourself, General,” said Irene. 

“ So I was.” 

How ? ” inquired Miss Appleby. 

“ I accidentally kicked over a loaded musket at the 
barracks, and shot myself in the leg. The ball is in there 
yet,” said General Flynn, touching his calf. 

“ And the General says I may probe for it, sometime,” 
said Irene. 

‘‘ Irene !” shrieked her aunt, “ I am surprised at you ' 
Probe for a ball in General Flynn’s leg? I never heard 
of such a thing ! ” 

“ Indeed, ma’am ; and if the young lady is fond of sur- 
gery, why shouldn’t she ? It’ll be a work of humanity. 
I’ve given her permission to try a new kind of remedv for 


ii8 


MISS HAMMER 'S LO VERS. 


fever upon the army. The whole military force of the 
Republic is at her service, if she wants to practise for 
doctoring.” 

“ Isn’t it splendid!” said Irene. ‘‘Oh, you are too 
kind, General.” 

“ I’m afraid the mortality rate will be larger than in 
time of war,” said Mr. Hhmmer, smiling. 

“ Oh, papa!” exclaimed Irene ; “ you know you’re not 
in earnest.” 

“And how is the army, General ? ” asked Mr. Hammer. 

“Well, from fair to middling, sir, as well as I can make 
out. It’s a little hard to keep the exact run of things. 
You see, there are fifteen thousand men on the rolls, but 
we can’t scare up more than one hundred and thirty- 
five for active duty, and twenty-two of them are brigadier- 
generals.” 

“ Don’t they get jealous of each other ? ” inquired 
Aunt Appleby. 

“ Yes, in time of peace ; but when there’s war I have 
no trouble. In the fight of last December three briga- 
diers stayed at home because they had notes to meet. 
General Curculio backed out because it looked like rain, 
and he had lent his umbrella ; and General De Campo 
wrote to say that he would be unable to come because his 
mother-in-law had lumbago.” 

“You won, though, I believe ?” said Irene. 

“ Yes,” said the General, with a proud smile. “ I put 
a guard around the door of the executive mansion. Then 
I broke in a window' with a brick, and when the President 
appeared, I told him to get out. He said he would as 
soon as he could get his boots on. The rascal I he w'anted 


MISS HAMMERS S LOVERS. 


. II9 


time to bag the unexpended balance of the executive ap- 
propriation ! I went in and caught him at it, and marched 
him down stairs by the collar.” 

“ He must have been a hero,” said Miss Appleby. 

“ But when we put Sandoval in, I resorted to strategy. 
The army, you know, had shrunk up so much, and the 
weather was so hot, that the men hated to go into battle; 
and I sent word to the President that there was a cock- 
fight in the Plaza with a Yucatan rooster on which he had 
a bet. He come right out, of course, and when he got 
back I had Sandoval in office, with eighteen men guarding 
him with loaded muskets. A more disgusted man than 
the ex- President you never saw in the whole course of 
your life ! ” 

I have an idea Sandoval won’t stay in long,” said Mr. 
Hammer. 

“ Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t quite made up my mind. 
It’s a mere question now of homoeopathy or allopathy. 
Knox, you know, belongs to the Opposition, and they call 
Sandoval’s crowd ‘ The Pilule Party while Sandoval 
always alludes to them as the ‘ Phlebotomists.’ Just at 
this moment I’m for the Pilules, but I might be made to 
see that the Phlebotomists have right on their side. I 
think the army is rather more partial to quinine and 
calomel than it is to medicine that the men can’t feel 
going right to the spot. I’d like to discuss the subject 
with you, Miss Irene.’’ 

“ Oh, do ! I’ll show you all the authorities.” 

Irene ! you shock me, ’ said her aunt. 

“May I, pa?” asked Irene. 

I see no harm in it,” said Mr. Hammer, “ I’ll get 


120 


MISS HAMMER ^S LOVERS, 


you, at the same time, to draw out a map of my thoracic 
duct. I’d like to see how it looks.” 

“ And the General, pa, has promised to get me a 
skeleton, if you will let me have it. Will you, pa ? ” 

“To scare your aunt with ?” 

“ Irene Hammer ! if you bring a human skeleton into 
this house, I will leave at once!” exclaimed Miss Apple- 
by. “ As those bones enter one door, I go out the other.” 

“ Oh, well ; we can discuss the skeleton after a while. 
Suppose now we adjourn to the library,” said Mr, Hammer. 

“ With pleasure,” said the General, as he offered Irene 
his arm. Then Miss Appleby joined her brother-in-law, 
and the whole party entered the house. 


II. 

The Pilule party, a few weeks later, were still in power, 
General Flynn having neglected to give to the arguments 
of the Phlebotomists against the homoeopathic theories 
that weight which Knox felt really belonged to them. 

In the meantime, President Sandoval, when he could 
spare time from the duties of state, became a more atten- 
tive visitor at the house of Mr. Hammer. He was a man 
of very agreeable manners, and rather a favourite with 
Mr. Hammer and Irene, and appreciation of this fact by 
Dr Knox filled the latter gentleman with raging jealousy. 
Knox, in fact, began to conceit that Irene treated him with 
a certain degree of coldness, and he was keenly sensible of 
the fact that to encounter any serious obstacle in that 
quarter after asking Irene’s hand of her father, would be 


M/SS HAMMER'S LOVERS. 


I2I 


to make him appear ridiculous in the eyes of the old gen- 
tleman. Knox determined to try to bring matters to a 
crisis 

It was a lovely evening. Sandoval sat with Irene 
upon the porch, behind a mass of fragrant clinging vines, 
while the round moon rose slowly over the distant hills 
and dimmed with its misty light the radiance of the 
myriad fire-flies that flitted, sparkling, amid the shrub- 
bery. The two were alone. Mr. Hammer was writing 
in the library, and Miss Appleby had gone to bed with 
rheumatism in her shoulder-blade. Sandoval was speak- 
ing softly to Irene. 

“ Why, look at the matter. Miss Hammer ! Examine it 
for yourself! What do you do when your nose is frozen ? ” 

“ It never zs frozen in this climate.” 

“ But suppose it should be ; would you put it in hot 
water ? ” 

Not too hot.” 

“ No ; you would apply snow to it ; you would bury 
it in ice.” 

“ Would that cure it?” 

“ Yes ; for like cures like. And so if your toes were 
frosted. Excuse me for speaking, of your toes. Say w/ 
toes. If my toes were frosted, would I hold them to the 
fire?” 

“ I don’t know. Would you ? ” 

“ Of course not ; 'I should put them in cold water ; the 
colder the better.” 

** Barefooted, do you mean ? ” 

“ Barefooted. That is the homoeopathic principle. Cold 
for cold, heat for heat.” 


122 


M/SS HAMMER *S LOVERS. 


“ Don’t you ever allow mustard plasters ? I can never 
approve a school of medicine that rejects mustard 
plasters.” 

“ In some cases, of course. Where the malady is of a 
mustard character, we cure with mustard. Now, for in- 
stance, what does arnica do when taken internally ? ” 

“ Makes you sick .? ” 

‘‘ No ; it produces bruises upon the skin. That is why 
we use it to cure bruises.” 

“ I will put some in Aunt Appleby’s tea to-morrow 
morning, to see if it will,” said Irene. 

“ And so if you are warm, and wish to become cool, do 
you take a cold bath That will make you v'^arm. You 
take a hot bath, and you at once feel cool. If you have 
a fever, you make hot applications to the body. The 
principle runs all through the whole list of diseases.” 

“ How interesting!” exclaimed Irene. 

“ I shall be glad to unfold the whole homoeopathic 
scheme to you at any time. You take an odd interest in. 
such things.” 

“ I wish I could study medicine.” 

“ Not for the purpose of practising, I hope.” 

“ I don’t know.” 

. “You know how much we professional men abhor 
women doctors. But we will not discuss that. Why not 
marry a physician .? ” 

“ That would be my preference.” 

“It would ! You don’t know how happy I am to hear 
you say that ! Homoeopathic or allopathic.?” 

“That would depend, of course, on circumstances. 
Your plan with frozen noses strikes me very favourably.” 


M/SS HAMMERS S LOVERS. 


123 


Let me hope that you will be favourably impressed, 
also, with the author of the suggestion. In fact, Irene, I 
love you ! Will you be my wife ? ” 

“ Really, Signor Sandoval, I — I have hardly considered 
the — the — ” 

“ Remember ! I do not ask you to marry a mere phy- 
sician. My wife will be honoured as the first lady of the 
Republic, for I am the President ; and — ” 

While he was speaking, a man came up on the porch, 
and said — 

“Is Doctor Sandoval here ? ” 

“Yes; here I am. What’s the matter.?” 

“ Only a little trouble up here at the House.” 

“ A disturbance ? ” 

“ Yes, a kind of one.” 

“ I must go and see what the difficulty is.” 

“ Oh no, you needn’t,” said the messenger, “ it’s all 
over.” 

“ How do you mean ? ” 

“ Knox is President ! ” 

“Knox.? Tecumseh Knox.?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Where’s General Flynn .? Order him to call out the 
troops at once This is serious, Miss Irene.” 

“He has called them out! ” 

“Well.?” 

“ And they came.” 

“Well?” 

“And General Flynn and the army have declared fot 
Knox and the Phlebotomists ! ” 

“ The perjured villain ! ” shrieked Sandoval 


124 


MISS HAMMEI^ 'S LOVEES. 


** Yes, sir. They sent to the executive mansion, and 
asked if you were home ; and when the coloured girl said 
you weren’t, they dashed in, set your trunks and bed- 
steads in the street, and Knox moved in. He has turned 
out the Cabinet, confiscated all the money in the Treasury, 
made General Flynn Knight of the Order of San Salvador 
and the Blue Elephant, and he’s thinking about declaring 
war with Costa Rica, so as to give the brigadier-generals 
a chance to sack a couple of towns and go in for glory ! 
It’s the biggest thing in the way of a revolution that 
this Republic has struck yet!” 

“ Well, well,” said Sandoval, sadly, turning to Irene, 
I don’t see how this government is ever going to make 
its influence felt in the affairs of Europe if things go on 
in this manner. It’s not the right way to conduct a free 
republic, that’s certain ! ” 

“It has the advantage of being original,” said Irene. 

“Yes, but it’s not sufficiently impressive! Why, those 
bloated old despots across there in Europe roll over and 
laugh when they hear about such proceedings. It seems 
to me that what we want here is greater respect for the 
dignity of the Presidential office.” 

“ Pa will be surprised when he hears about it,” ob- 
served Irene. 

“ Why, if they had only given me a little time ! But 
to run a man out while he is away calling on a friend ! 
It’s not the fair thing. I’d just written to the President 
of V enezuela to come up and pay me a state visit, too ! 
He’ll come and find Knox in office ! It is a little too mor- 
tifying ! But you,” said Sandoval, drawing close to Irene, 
“ you will love me still, won’t you ? ” 


MJSS HAMMERS S LOVERS. 


125 


“ Still ! Love you still ! I don’t think I understand 
you exactly.” 

I thought you intended rather to intimate that you 
would reciprocate my feelings.” 

“You misunderstood me. I did not mean to convey 
such an impression. To tell the truth, Signor, pa wants 
to keep in as much as possible with the administration, 
and my duty is to help him.” 

“ This is heartrending ! Misfortune seems to heap 
itself upon me ! ” 

“ And, at any rate, I have long had an impression that 
if I married at all, I should choose a man who had a tre- 
pan, or consumption, or something, so that I could study 
his case continually.” 

“ I have a touch of gout, now and then, if that will be 
of any use to you.” 

“ I’d rather not decide so important a matter finally 
just now.” 

“ Oh, very well. I’ll call again, if you will permit me. 
Perhaps,” said Sandoval, significantly, as he rose to go, 
“when I come again I will be President, and have the 
Phlebotomists under my feet ! ” 

When Mr. Hammer came down to breakfast in the 
morning, he called his servant and asked, 

“Jose, who is President this morning.?” 

“ Dr. Knox, sir ; unless they had another revolution 
after midnight.” 

“Knox, eh.? Well, Jose, just run into the city, and 
inquire how things stand. And, Jose, find out the name 
of the Secretary of the Treasury, and come back as 
quickly as you can. I want,” said Mr. Hammer to 


126 M/SS HAMMER 'S LO VERS. 


Irene, “to address a note to him before he is turned 
out.” 

“ For my part,” said Miss Appleby, “ I consider such 
governments ridiculous. But what can you expect from 
a lot of doctors .? ” 

“ So Flynn has gone over to the Phlebotomists, has 
he 1 I expected that,” said Mr. Hammer. 

“ They drugged him, I reckon,” remarked Miss 
Appleby. 

“ Dr. Sandoval was very indignant at his conduct,” 
said Irene. “ But I have no doubt General Flynn acted 
in accordance with the dictates of his conscience.” 

“ General Flynn’s conscientiousness, darling,” said Mr. 
Hammer, “is like Sandoval’s doses — microscopic !” 

“ He hasn’t enough to stick a pin in. I’ll guarantee,” 
observed Miss Appleby. 

“ General Flynn wishes to see you, sir,” said a servant, 
entering the room. 

“Ah! he is here, is he!” remarked Mr. Hammer. 

“ I’ll go to him at once.” 

“ You heard about the revolution, of course,” remarked 
the General, as he took a chair. 

Oh yes ! Sandoval is gone, is he ? ” 

“ Yes ; you see there was no help for it. The Pilule 
theories are not popular in the army. Sandoval, like all^ 
these homoeopathists, would persist in trying experi- 
ments ; he would use the troops for medicinal purposes.” 

“How?” 

“ Why, for instance, on Tuesday he made the twenty- 
two brigadier-generals take ipecac., to see if it would really 
produce asthma, and it did. The result was horrible 


12 ) 


M/SS HAMMERS S LOVERS. 


For an entire day there were twenty-two brigadier-gene- 
rals meandering about town gasping for breath. They 
didn’t like it ; they said that they loved their country, but 
hanged if they were going to make themselves short- 
winded for her benefit.” 

“ They got over it ? ” 

“ Certainly, took more ipecac. But Sandoval was not 
satisfied with that. He compelled thirty-four colonels to 
take sulphur, to prove that sulphur produces eruptions as 
well as cures them. Why, you never saw anything so dis- 
graceful ! The whole batch of them broke out in a kind 
of scarlet rash, and Colonel Grambo’s wife packed up and 
went home to her father’s, because she was afraid he’d 
give the children small-pox. I tell you, sir, the soldiers 
of this Republic are not going to stand too much of that 
kind of thing.” 

I should think not.” 

“ So we pronounced for Knox, and ran Sandoval out. 
And Knox has issued a general order to me to fly-blister 
the entire force and to cup and bleed every man, from the 
commander down, so’s to get their systems straight 
again, after Sandoval’s foolishness. The men ’ll not be 
worth a cent for a fight if we keep on putting doctors at 
the head of the government.” 

“ I’m afraid not,” said Mr. Hammer. 

“ What I came to see you about,” said the General, 
“was to ask you to accompany me tu-day to a review. 
Knox is going to inspect the army. Will you come ? ” 

“ I think I will.” 

“ And I should like you to bring Miss Irene, also.” 

“ I will ask her, if you wish it.” 


128 


MISS HAMMERS S LOVERS. 


“By the way, Mr. Hammer, now we are speaking of 
her, do you know I have had serious thoughts of proposing 
myself in marriage to your daughter ? Would I have your 
consent, if the proposition should prove agreeable to 
her.” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Hammer, “ the fact is I’d rather you 
would ask her first. Knox said about the same thing to 
me when he was here a few weeks ago. I’d prefer to 
have Irene make her own choice.” 

“ Knox ! You don’t mean to say Knox pretends to be 
in love with Miss Hammer ? ” 

“ That is what he said.” 

“ He did, did he ? If I had known that last night 
there would have been no revolution. That settles him ! 
I’m for the Pilules now, ipecac., or no ipecac. Knox 
marry her ! Well, that is good ! ” 

“ But the review will be held, will it ? ” 

“Oh, certainly! Duty is duty, no matter who is 
President.” 

“We will be there, then. At what time ? ” 

“ Half-past eleven, in the Plaza,” and General Flynn 
withdrew, the mortal enemy of the Phlebotomists. 

When Mr. Hammer drove into the Plaza, with Irene 
and her aunt in his carriage, the army was drawn up in a 
line. A brass band, in which bass drum and cymbals 
appeared to predominate, stood at the left playing polkas 
and other dance music with such energy, that the military 
forces of the Republic were unable to keep their legs still 
Upon the staff of the flag was perched a huge green 
parrot, the national bird ; and it was expressing its 
opinion of the music in the wickedest objurgations that 


MISS HAMMER'S LOVERS 


129 


the colour- sergeant, who had taught it, could discover in 
the Spanish language. 

The army mustered one hundred and ninety-three 
men, the attendance being larger than usual because of 
the existence of a distinct understanding that there was to 
be no lighting. The arms were of various patterns, from 
the best modern rifles to old smooth-bore muskets, which 
kicked with such vehemence that the marksman always 
retained the impression that he was fired in one direction 
further than the bullet was in the other. There was one 
piece of artillery ; but it had been loaded with wet 
powder during a revolutionary movement several years 
before, and as the powder had caked and hardened in 
drying, it could not be dug out, and the chief of artillery 
was afraid to try to touch it off with a match. So the 
gun was used to give dignity to the appearance of things 
rather than for offensive purposes. 

All the brigadier-generals and colonels were present, 
except General De Campo, whose mother-in-law had cut 
the buttons from his uniform and locked up the pins, to 
punish him for losing money upon a horse-race ; and 
Colonel Grambo, who had gone to bring his wife home, 
and to take medical advice about the eruption upon his 
face. 

General Flynn pranced about upon a superb charger, 
which was the envy of the whole army. He wore a 
uniform which the Duke of Wellington would have been 
ashamed to assume after the battle of Waterloo. He 
was fairly covered with spangles and gold lace, and the 
orders on his breast were as thick as the scales upon a 
herring. 

9 


130 


MISS HAMMER^S LOVERS. 


The General took his place by the side of the President, 
but it was observed that he treated Knox with marked 
coolness. 

Sandoval sat in a neighbouring window, watching the 
proceedings and gritting his teeth. 

The General first exercised the troops in the manual 
of arms. The result of each order was a wobbling uncer- 
tainty in the movements of the muskets, and the mani- 
festation in each man of a disposition to wait until he saw 
what his neighbour intended to do. But the General 
seemed satisfied ; he was acquainted with his army ; and 
when the manual exercises were finished, the evolutions 
began. They were so surprising that Mr. Hammer 
laughed. N obody in the army seemed to have the most 
distant idea what he was about, and the densest ignorance 
was displayed by the twenty-one brigadier-generals, 
whose manoeuvres were chiefly directed by a desire to 
keep themselves well to the front, where the grandeur of 
their clothing and the ferocity of their demeanour would 
produce the strongest impression upon the spectators. 

While the movements were proceeding, General Flynn 
whispered to an orderly, and a few moments later San- 
doval disappeared suddenly from his window. 

Finally, General Flynn saluted Knox, and asked him 
if he should end the review. Knox said he should like, 
first, to make a speech to the troops. He rode to the 
front, and said : — 

“ Soldiers ! You have the thanks of your government 
for the splendour and matchless precision of your 
manoeuvres to-day. With such an army the liberties 
of the people are safe frona the machinations of despots, 





" Knox said lie would like to make a speech."— Fu^e 130. 




e 


132 


MISS HAMMER^S LOVERS. 


and the soil of your country from the intrusion of a 
foreign foe. It was to save you from the traitors who 
were trying to destroy you with insidious poisons that I 
assumed the Executive Chair. I grasped the reins of 
power that fell from hands which were driving us to 
destruction. Your valour in the past is the best surety 
of your fidelity in the future. Let us all renew our vows 
to our common country, and resolve that the last drop of 
our blood shall be shed to save her from foreign or 
domestic treason ! Soldiers ! I salute you ! Farewell !” 

The President wheeled about, and as General Flynn, 
dismissed the forces, he rode swiftly to the Executive 
mansion, the General behind him. 

As Knox entered, he was startled to see Sandoval 
sitting in the President’s chair, surrounded by his former 
cabinet officers. 

“ What are you doing here, sir ? What do you 
mean ” he demanded fiercely. *• Leave this place at 
once, or I will put you under arrest ! ” 

Sandoval smiled grimly, and said, 

“ I don’t think you grasp the situation exactly. Why, 
my gracious, man, you don’t imagine that you’re the Pre- 
sident ! Don’t you know that there has been another 
revolution ? *’ 

“General Flynn,” said Knox, sternly, “have that man 
arrested, and locked up, upon a charge of high treason ! 
I will make out the necessary papers at once.” 

“ It can’t be done 1 ” responded the General. 

“ It can’t be done ? Why not ? ” asked Knox, turning 
white and edging toward the door. 

“ Why, because I have just pronounced for him.” 


MISS HAMMER ^S LOVERS. 


133 


“ And the army ? I will appeal to the troops.” 

“ Oh, you needn’t mind. That order about fly-blisters 
fixed them. The brigadier-generals said they’d prefer 
asthma to blisters.” 

Knox reflected in silence upon the situation. 

“ It’s of no use, Knox,” said the General. “ The 
Pilules are in possession. You might as well pack up 
your traps and quit! You know well enough that San- 
doval’s theories are sound. You vaccinate for small-pox, 
don’t you ? And you thaw out a frost-bite with ice, don't 
you ? I’ve seen you do it myself. So move on now ! 
Go ; or I’ll be obliged to call in the guard.” 

As Knox sullenly withdrew, Sandoval said to his 
Secretary of the Treasury — 

‘‘ Collect a tax of two per cent., at once, on all the real 
and personal property in the Republic. General Flynn 
will assist you. And try to negotiate another loan of 
50,000 dollars up at the banker’s. We can’t run this 
government without money ; and, besides, I’^a entirely 
out of cigars. General, give the army leave to forage in 
all the Phlebotomists’ hen-roosts and banana-patches; 
and give the men new outfits from any occupied clothes’- 
line that you come across I Our brave defenders must not 
suffer if there’s not a shirt left to the civilians of the 
Republic!” 


III. 

Ex-President Knox thought perhaps he might find 
at the Hammer mansion consolation for some of his 
woes. When he called he discovered that the family 


134 


M/SS HAMMER ’S LO VERS. , 


had not yet heard of his misfortunes. Mr. Hammer 
said — 

“ Knox, I congratulate you upon your accession to the 
Presidency! It is a little rough for Sandy; but, perhaps, 
his turn will come again, some time or other.” 

“It has already come, sir,” remarked Knox. 

“ What 1 another revolution 1 To-day } ” 

“Yes, that red-headed little rascal, Flynn, betrayed 
me ! Mr. Hammer, hanged if I believe General Flynn 
has that high-minded kind of patriotic devotion that a 
soldier ought to have. Epaminondas didn’t tear out the 
government two or three times a month ; and if Lord 
Napier ever dispersed the British Cabinet because they 
wouldn’t let him fly-blister the army, the information has 
been suppressed. I am not very particular, but Flynn 
seems to me to lack some of the greatest characteristics 
of a hero.” 

“ That thought occurred to me also,” said Miss Ap- 
pleby, with a slightly scornful smile. 

“ Why don’t you and Sandy take day and day about ” 
asked Mr. Hammer. “ You be President on Monday, 
and let him act on Tuesday.” 

“That would be against the constitution,” replied 
Knox. “ I have too much respect for that sacred instru- 
ment to violate it ” 

“ I am glad to hear you say that. I don’t think any- 
body would have noticed the fact if you hadn’t mentioned 
it,” said Miss Appleby. 

“Ah! here is Miss Irene,” exclaimed Knox, as that 
lady entered. “ Good morning ! Miss Irene, may I have 
a few moments’ conversation with you ? ” 


MISS HAMMER^$ LOVERS. 1 35 

“ With pleasure.” 

“ Shall we stroll upon the porch, if your father and 
aunt will permit us ? ” 

Irene acquiesced, and she left the room with Knox. 
When Knox had explained to her the political situation, 
he said — 

“ But, Miss Hammer, I should not regret the loss of 
power and office if I could obtain something else that I 
want.” 

“What is that?” 

“ Your — your — may I say it ? your love ! ” 

“ Oh, doctor ! I can hardly promise you that. I need 
not attempt to go into an explanation ; but I may 
mention that, among other things, I cannot be per- 
fectly sympathetic with you in medical matters. 
What is your remedy for a frozen nose, for in- 
stance ? ” 

“ Why — in fact — indeed, Miss Hammer, I cannot see 
what relation exists between my affection for you and my 
theory about frozen noses.” 

“ Dr. Sandoval says he would put it in ice. Where 
would you put it? in the fire?” 

“Ah! Sandoval has been attempting to delude you 
with his vile heresies, has he ? ” 

“ N ot so bad as that, I hope ; but like cures like, 
doesn’t it ? ” 

“If you burned your arm, would you hold a lighted 
candle to the wound to^ure it ?” 

' “I don’t ,know.’’ 

“ If you should be half-drowned would you anchor 
yourself in the river to recover from the shock ? If you 


MISS HAMMER ^S LO VERS. 


<36 

stuck yourself with a pin would you swallow another to 
make yourself well ? 

“ I don’t think I would.” 

“ Certainly you wouldn’t ! But that’s homcEopathy ! 
Suppose your pa should punch out one of his eyes, would 
you punch out the other as a remedy.? I tell you. Miss 
Hammer, that kind of foolishness is going to carry this 
country to destruction, if we are not mighty careful.” 

“Why, here’s General Flynn! ’ exclaimed Irene, as 
that valiant warrior galloped up, and dismounted. As 
she rose to welcome him, Knox did not seem overpowered 
with joy. In fact, he sat still, and looked glum. 

“ Good morning. Miss Hammer 1 Halloa, Knox, you 
here?” said the General, in a cheery way. “Don’t be 
so downhearted, old man, maybe your turn’ll come next.” 

“ The doctor,” said Irene, with an intent to relieve the 
embarrassment of the situation, “ has just been pointing 
out the fallacies of the homoeopathic theories.” 

“ I’m beginning to see them myself,” said the General. 

“You are?” exclaimed Knox, with surprise. 

“ Doctor Sandoval almost convinced me last night that 
they were true,” said Irene. 

“ Yes, I heard that he was here last night,” said the 
General, significantly. “ He told me what "occurred. If 
i had known that he had certain aspirations, that I 
needn’t mention, I should never have pronounced against 
Knox here. Told me that he loved her,” said the General, 
in a whisper to Knox. • 

“ I had no idea he would be made President so soon,” 
said Irene. 

“Well, he won’t hold office long, I think,” said the 


MISS HAMMER’S LOVERS. 


137 


General, winking at Knox. ‘‘ I say, Knox, do you know 
what he did, almost the first thing after he was sworn in ?” 

‘‘No; what?” 

“ Actually ordered me to issue rations of cinchona 
bark, to see if it would give the army chills ! General 
Tejada says that Nero, in his worst days, never gave his 
brigadier-generals chills ; and, for his part, he don’t think 
that’s the right way to go about saving the country.” 

“ Might as well close out the whole sacred heritage of 
the fathers to some efficient despot at once ’’ remarked 
Knox. 

“ Of course, and so IVe pretty much made up my mind 
to pronounce again for you. S'pose you run up and see 
General Tejada, and arrange the details with him } Pro- 
mise that you’ll make him a duke or something, and thai 
you’ll guarantee him from fatty degeneration of the heart 
for a term of years, and he’ll lay down his life for you.” 

Dr. Knox seemed to like the idea, for he arose, ana 
bidding good-bye to Irene and the General, he mouniea 
his horse, and disappeared down t]ie road. 

“ I’m glad he’s out of the way,” said the General; “ I 
merely wanted to get rid of him.” 

“ Are you really going to pronounce for him ?” asked 
Irene. 

“ I think I shall ; temporarily, at any rate, until I can 
look around for a better man. The army is getting dis- 
gusted with these medical Presidents.” 

“ But you don’t object to medical people, General, 
I am sure ? ” 

“ Not when they are as lovely as you are." 

“ Oh, General ! ’’ 


M/SS FIAMMEIVS LOVERS. 


“Yes, I am in earnest, Miss Irene. I fairly worship 
the ground you tread upon. Won’t you give me a little 
love in return ? ” 

“ Ah, General, you are asking too much. I have almost 
vowed not to marry any man who was not sufficiently 
infirm to be an interesting subject for scientific study.” 

“ Then I’m the happy man. Look at my nose ! How 
charming it would be, if we were married, for you to 
exercise your skill in making it straight again! You 
shall try, Irene. Give me your love, and you may put 
that feature in splints for a month at a time.” 

“ It would be interesting,” said Irene, thoughtfully. 
“ The lateral cartilages are only slightly twisted. Pos- 
sibly I could pull them around with a string tied to your 
nostril and your right ear.” 

“ Splendid I ” 

“ But you would present a peculiar appearance upon 
parade.” 

“ Who cares I ” 

“ I do not suppose tl\at the osseous walls of your nose 
are affected in any way.” 

“ I know they’re not,” said the General, with emphasis. 

“ It is a very fascinating study — the nose,” said Irene. 

“ Mine?” 

“ Any one. Thousands of people are actually in ig- 
norance that they smell with their olfactory peduncle.” 

“ Hundreds of thousands of them,” exclaimed the 
General. “ I didn’t even know it myself.” 

“And Aunt Appleby said she wouldn’t believe me, 
because I told her that she couldn’t wink without a 
sphincter muscle. She said she considered me insane.” 


MISS HAMMER'S LOVERS. 


^39 


“ How unreasonable ! Nothing would induce me to 
wink without one.” 

“ Why, a person can’t even kiss without a sphincter.” 

“Indeed?” 

“ I know it is so.” 

“May I try if I can ?” asked the General. 

“ Oh, General, it is too bad for you to make light of 
such a subject ! ” 

The General seized her hand and kissed that. She 
permitted it to remain in his grasp. “ I didn’t notice 
whether a— a— what do you call iti’ — a sphincter helped 
me then or not. Let me try again ! ” 

Irene smiled sweetly as the General repeated the 
operation When he tried it a third time she moved her 
hand suddenly away, and the General’s nose struck the 
back of the chair with some violence. When he lifted his 
head there were tears in his eyes. 

“ Pardon me,” cried Irene. “ Did you hurt yourself? ” 

“ Oh, not much.” 

“ I see that the blow affected your lachrymal glands. 
They are close to the nose.” 

“May I take your hand again ?” asked the General, 
clasping it without waiting for permission. 

“ The hand ! ” exclaimed Irene. “ How wonderful it 
is ! I have beautiful plaster Paris models of the carpus 
and metacarpus up-stairs. I will show them to you some 
day.” 

“ It is remarkable how much you know about such 
things— really wonderful,” said the General. “ What is 
the bone at the back of the head called ? ” 

“ Why, the occipital bone, of course.” 


140 


MISS HAMMER^S LOVERS. 


“ And what are the names of the muscles of the arm ? 

“ The spiralis and infra-spiralis, among others.” 

“ Well, now, let me show you what I mean. I want 
to take a lesson in science. When I put my infra-spiralis 
around your waist, so, is it your occipital bone that rests 
upon my shoulder-blade in this way ? ” 

“ My back hair, primarily, but the occipital, of course, 
afterwards. But, oh, General, suppose pa should come 
in and see us ? ” 

“Let him come! Who cares?” exclaimed the 
General, boldly. “ I think Til exercise a sphincter again, 
and take a kiss.” 

“ General 1 how can you ?” said Irene, blushing, as he 
withdrew his face, after executing the feat. 

“ Don’t call me General ; call me Terence,” he said, 
drawing her closer. “You accept me, don't you? I 
know you do, Irene, darling!” 

“Terence!” whispered Irene, faintly.' 

“What, darling?” 

“ I can hear your heart beat ! ” 

“It beats only for you, my angel ! ” 

“ And it sounds to me out of order ; the ventricular 
contraction is not uniform.” 

“ Small matter of wonder for that when it’s bursting 
for joy.” 

“You must put yourself under treatment for it. I 
will give you some medicine.” 

“ It’s your own property, my darling. Do what you 
please with it.” 

“And that wound in your limb? Ts 'he bullet in the 
tibia or the fibula ? ” 


M[SS HAMMER'S LOVERS. 141 

“ I have not the least idea in the world what those 
terms refer to, but you may analyze me until you find it. 
You may cut me all up in bits, if you want to.” 

“ Oh, Terence !” 

“ The sphincter operation is the one that strikes me 
most favourably,” said the General. , “ Let me see how 
it works again.” 

“And Gen — Terence, I mean I” 

« Well, sweet ? ” 

“ Have you any objection to my studying medicine, 
and becoming a real physician ? ” 

“ Not the least bit in the world ! I’ll buy you a case 
of surgical instruments to-morrow.” 

“ Oh, will you ? ” 

“With a saw, a carving-knife a foot long, and 
lancets, and a gimlet, and everything.” 

“ Splendid ! But, Terence ? ” 

“ What, dearest ? ” 

“ Not a gimlet.' Doctors don’t use it.” 

“ I thought they did. Anyhow, I’ll get you gallons 
on gallons of squills, and paregoric by the barrel, and 
arsenic and stuff by the ton— enough to physic the 
whole of Central America.” 

“ How can I thank you ! ” 

“And I’ll appoint you Surgeon- General of the Forces, 
and make old Knox mad enough to commit suicide.” 

“ Poor Dr. Knox ! What will he say when he hears 
that we are engaged ? ” 

“ I don’t care what he says. If he mentions the 
matter to me, Pll recommend him to marry your aunt. 
He and Sandoval might toss up for her.” 


M/SS HAMMER 'S LO VERS. 


I4J? 

“ Aunt is going away.” 

“ She is ? ” 

To Cuba. Her brother lives there. She is going 
to stay with him for several months.” 

Knox can wait until she comes back.” 

“ She is not partial to doctors.” 

“ I remember your saying so before. Her incredulity 
about sphincters is simply astonishing. Let me see, how 
was it the sphincter acted .? ” 

Just as the General was kissing Irene, Miss Appleby 
came out upon the porch, followed, a moment later, by 
Mr. Hammer. 

“Well, upon my word, these are curious kinds of 
carryings on ! Irene, do you permit gentlemen to salute 
you in that manner t ” 

“ It is all right, madame,” said the General, gaily. 
“ We are engaged. I feel as if I should like to salute 
the entire family.” 

“You may kiss Mr. Hammer, if you want to ; and the 
cook.” 

“ Mr. Hammer,” said the General, “ Irene, here, has 
accepted my offer of marriage. I shall be glad to discuss 
the matter with you at your convenience.” 

“ I will give you an early opportunity, sir,” replied Mr. 
Hammer, “ But I am afraid this is another revolutionary 
movement. Knox and Sandoval will be mad enough to 
do anything.” 

“ They are not dangerous, sir ; not a bit dangerous. I 
will take care of them! I am sorry. Miss Appleby, to 
hear that you are going away. You’ll miss the wedding. 
I hoped to dance with you.” 


MISS HAMMER ^S LOVERS. 


143 


‘‘ I don’t dance.” 

“ We shall have the army band.” 

‘‘ In that case, I doubt if I should be able to dance if I 
knew how.” 

“ And now,” said Mr. Hammer, “ suppose we adjourn 
to dinner. General, you will join us, of course ? ” 

“ Oh, certainly. I feel as if I were mustered in as 
one of the family already.” 

And the party disappeared through the hall door. 

Two important events happened on the morrow. Miss 
Appleby sailed early in the morning for Cuba. She had a 
great dread of sea-sickness. Irene gave her two infallible 
preventives. Dr. Knox sent her a third, and Dr. Sandoval 
called to leave a fourth. Miss Appleby had still others that 
she had seen described in newspapers, and General Flynn 
gave her a patent swinging berth, which oscillated with the 
vessel, and was warranted to make sea-sickness impossible. 

As the steamer sailed away, the friends of the family 
waved a last adieu with their handkerchiefs, and Irene 
cried so hard that the General was compelled to exert 
himself strenuously to console her. 

Later in the day, the General called the army out, and 
in a short speech informed the troops that the liberties 
of the country were in peril, and that upon them devolved 
the duty of snatching the government from the hands of 
Sandoval and the traitorous Pilules, who were threatening 
it with destruction. 

There were one hundred and fifteen men in the ranks, 
and fourteen brigadier-generals. Forming the force in 
battle array, the General gave the order to move upon the 
Executive mansion. President Sandoval seemed to have 


144 


MLSS HAMMER'S LOVERS. 


heard of the proposed attack. All the doors were shut 
and locked, and a dozen men stood at the second-floor 
windows with muskets. 

As the assailants approached, one of the muskets went 
off by accident, and instantly thirty-eight private soldiers, 
nine colonels, and six brigadier generals left the ranks to 
go home after something that they had forgotten. 

General Flynn rode bravely up to the besieged build- 
ing, with drawn sword in his hand, and demanded that 
Sandoval should surrender. ' 

I’ll see you hanged first ! ” replied Sandoval. 

“ I want to avoid bloodshed,’’ said the General ; and 
at the suggestion of bloodshed ten more men and a colonel 
remembered that they had other engagements ; “ but Fm 
going to take this building.” 

“ I don’t think you are,” replied Sandoval “ I am the 
lawful President of this Republic, and I’ll die in defence 
of my rights.” 

“What’s the use of talking in that way, Sandy?” 
remonstrated the General. “ You know well enough you’ve 
got to succumb, so you might as well come down at once.” 

“ Somehow, I can’t see it in exactly that light.” 

“ If we have a fight it will only break the doors and 
splinter up the furniture ; and if we have a siege, why, 
some of the men’ll be sunstruck sitting around out here 
in the heat You ought to surrender out of consideration 
for them.” 

“ Knox’s medicine will kill ’em quicker than sunstroke,” 
replied Sandoval. 

“ If I get up there, I’ll pull your nose, you infinitesimal 
doser!” shouted Knox, in a rage. 


MISS HAMMER'S LOVERS. 


“ You’d better attend to the men who are sore from 
head to foot with your poisonous fly-blisters before you 
come around lecturing me, you salivating old rascal ! ” 
replied Sandoval. 

“Will you surrenderor not ?” asked General Flynn. 

“ Certainly I won’t,” replied the President. 

“ Well, then, I’ll put you and your traitorous Pilule 
Cabinet out in the street in less than half-an-hour ! See 
if I don’t!” 

The General dismounted, and calling the remaining 
biigadier-generals around him, he held a council of war. 
A few moments later a detachment of troops commanded 
by General Tejada marched off down the street. Sandoval 
and his brave defenders watched them with mingled curi- 
osity and alarm. After a brief interval the detachment 
returned, dragging a fire-engine by a rope. It was 
stationed beneath Sandoval’s window, and the army, 
equipped with buckets, formed a double line to the river. 

The meaning of the manoeuvre dawned upon Sandoval 
and his adherents, and they closed the windows quickly. 
The engine was manned. The army began to fill the 
tanks with water. General Tejada seized the nozzle of the 
hose and mounted a* ladder which Knox had placed 
against the wall. 

When the heroic General reached the top-round, he 
smashed the window with his fist and turned a two-inch 
stream of water upon the Executive department of the 
P'lule government. The department, followed by San- 
doval, dashed into another room. The General leaped 
through the window, dragging the hose with him, and 

pursued the fugitives. He drove them from point to point 
lO 



He turned a two-inch stream upon the Executive Department.” — P^ge 145. 


MISS HAMMER ^S LOVERS. 


H7 


until they flew, pell-mell, down the main staircase. The 
General turned the stream upon them with full force, and 
they were compelled to choose between seeking refuge in 
the street and being drowned. They unlocked the door, 
and in an instant they were in the hands of a guard. Knox 
entered the doorway to speak to General Tejada, and that 
gallant soldier, being full of enthusiasm, did not recognize 
him and turned the hose on him with such vehemence that 
he was swept off his feet and carried clear out into the street. 

The revolution was achieved ! The Phlebotomists had 
won the day. Knox was sworn in at once by the chief 
justice, who laid down his bucket while he performed the 
solemn ceremony, and the Pilule Cabinet, drenched, 
draggled, discouraged, and miserable, was sent home in 
search of dry clothing. 

“ It was a big thing, Knox, wasn’t it ? ” said General 
Flynn. 

“ It was genius, General, that idea about the fire-engine !” 

“ I am going to write a book about it. Wars are too 
sanguinary under existing systems. I shall recommend 
the adoption of squirt-guns in place of rifles, and fire- 
engines instead of artillery. Give me enough fire-engines 
and ril whip the biggest army in Europe without killing 
a man ! ” 


IV. 

The Knox. Cabinet had been in office about a fortnight 
when Mr. Hammer received the following letter from his 
brother-in-law, an American merchant doing business in 
Havana : 

4 


148 


MISS HAMMER'S LOVERS. 


“ Dear Joshua : 

, I have sad news to communicate. Sarah reached 
this port upon the steamer on the 1 5th instant. She was 
greatly prostrated. She took, before starting upon the 
voyage, several preventives of sea-sickness, and these, com- 
bined with the movements of an oscillating berth in which 
she slept, made her so ill that her life was despaired of by 
the captain. The surgeon told me .that he had not seen 
so violent a case of sea-sickness during the whole of his 
professional career. The result was that when she reached 
my house she took to her bed, and expired on the morn- 
ing of the 17th instant In accordance with her last 
wishes her remains will be forwarded to you upon the next 
steamer ****’’ 

It happened just at this time that Major General 
Bussera, the Minister of War of Venezuela, who had been 
visiting Cuba upon public business, was stricken by 
yellow fever. He died within a few hours, and arrange- 
ments were made for conveying him home with much 
pomp and circumstance in the Venezuelan frigate, El 
Cuspador, which lay in the harbour of Havana. 

By some most unlucky mischance the boxes con- 
taining the remains of Major General Bussera and Miss 
Appleby were precisely alike, and as they lay upon the 
wharf, near to each other, the Venezuelan sailors of course 
carried Miss Appleby away to their ship, while the dead 
Major-General was stowed away in the hold of the packet 
ship and sent upon a voyage to Nicaragua. 

The manifestations of grief upon the frigate El Cus- 
itador, as she turned her prow homeward, were elaborate 
and affecting. Minute guns were ordered to be fired 


MISS BAMMEK 'S LOVERS. 


149 


during the entire voyage. A guard surrounded the bier, 
which was draped with black velvet and silver, and alter- 
nating brass -bands played melancholy dirges night and 
day. It was estimated that at least two tons of -powder 
were fired away during the trip, and that several hundred 
thousands cubic feet of wind were expended by the bands, 
to say nothing of muscular exertion. 

Upon the arrival of the remains at Caracas, a state 
funeral was prepared, the entire city was draped in mourn- 
ing, the streets were filled with people, the army was put 
into line, and the coffin was placed, amid imposing cere- 
monials, in a magnificent tomb built at the public cost. 
Foreign undertakers who were present said that it sur- 
passed anything of a funereal nature that they had ever 
witnessed. The whole nation was in tears ; the heart of 
a great people was wrung with anguish, and the bills 
amounted to ten or fifteen thousand dollars. 

The mortal part of Major-General Bussera arrived in 
good time in Nicaragua, and it was taken to Mr. Ham- 
mer’s house. 

General Flynn was present when the box came. He 
felt that he had a sacred^ duty to perform in consoling 
Irene in the hour of her affliction. When the covering of 
the box was removed Irene exclaimed — 

“ How much she has changed ! ”and then Irene began 
to cry. 

“ I wouldn’t have known her,” said the General. 

“ It doesn’t look a particle like Sarah, that is certain,” 
remarked Mr. Hammer. 

“There cannot be any mistake about it, I should 
think ” observed the General. 


MISS HAMME/rS LOVEES. 


150 

“Oh, no; of course not,” remarked Mr. Hammer. 

“But aunt was not bald,” said Irene. 

“And her nose turned down, instead of up,” said Mr. 
Hammer. 

“It is very curious,” remarked the General. “ Bui 
death produces wonderful changes.” 

“We cannot comprehend these mysteries,” said Mr. 
Hammer, “but I should like to know how her hair hap- 
pened to turn black. It used to be grey.” 

“And she had no double-chin,” said Irene. 

“Well, Avell!” remarked Mr. Hammer, “we must 
accept facts as they are. I have no doubt that it is all 
right.” 

The General led Irene away, weeping, and Mr. Ham- 
mer went to the city to arrange for the funeral. The 
body was interred in the cemetery on the morrow. Only 
the family. General Flynn, and the clergyman were present. 

About a month later, a Venezuelan frigate sailed into • 
the harbour, and sent eight boat-loads of soldiers ashore. 
Nobody could imagine what the object of the invasion 
was. President Knox, however, suspected that the Pre- 
sident of Venezuela had coAie to pay that state visit 
promised to Sandoval. 

The soldiers said nothing. They marched quickly 
through the streets and out to the cemetery. Proceeding 
to the Hammer family vault, they forced open the door, 
and seized the casket containing the body of Major- 
General Bussera. Then they placed a keg of powder in 
the tomb, fixed a slow-match in it, and retreated to a safe 
distance to watch Mr. Joshua Hammer’s sepulchre go 
whizzing in fragments through the air. 


M/SS HAMMER S LOVERS. 


Then they returned to the ship with the General’s 
remains, hoisted anchor, and sailed away. 

But where was the late Miss Appleby during this 
Outrageous proceeding ? It was with difficulty that any 
accurate information could be obtained ; but report said 
that when the Bussera family discovered that they had 
buried another person than their noble relative, they were 
so indignant that they took the casket down to the beach 
and tossed it into the sea. Other rumours, not authenti- 
cated, however, declared that it floated away, and for a 
month or two it sailed around the Gulf of Mexico, bump- 
ing up against Guatemala and Belize, being shot at for a 
shark, and affording a roosting-place for sea-gulls. Finally 
the captain of a Jamaica schooner, report said, tied an old 
anchor to it, and sank it in sixty fathoms of water. 

When these facts became known in Nicaragua, and 
the real purpose of the Venezuelan invasion of the ceme- 
tery was disclosed, the most intense excitement prevailed. 
There was a feeling that the sacred soil of the. Republic 
had been outraged by foemen, and that the dearest rights 
of one of the citizens of the nation had been trampled 
under foot with manifestations of scorn and insult. 
General Tejada declared that if he could transport two 
fire-engines to Caracas he would bring Venezuela to her 
knees. General De Campo swore that blood alone could 
wash out the stain, and he would be one to volunteer to 
invade Venezuela with fire and sword — if his mother-in- 
law would let him. General Curculio sharpened his 
sword upon a grindstone, and loaded both pistols to the 
muzzle, apparently with an intent to destroy Venezuela 
single-handed ; but he was suddenly laid up in bed with a 


152 


MISS HAMMER'S LOVERS. 


bilious attack, caused by a false report that President 
Knox had declared war. 

Knox said that war must come ; but he felt as if the 
country needed time to prepare for a long and bloody 
struggle. Dr. Sandoval vowed that if he were in office 
he should fit out a hostile expedition at once ; and he 
asserted, further, that the trouble might have been avoided 
if the deceased persons who caused it had not been put 
to death by the murderous treatment of the allopaths. 
General Flynn seemed disposed to hold his peace. He 
merely said that if he was wanted to uphold the govern- 
ment of his country, his superior officer knew where to 
find him. 

Knox dilly-dallied so long with the matter, that Sando 
val resolved to appeal to the country upon the question of 
Irene’s aunt. He issued a proclamation, in which, point- 
ing to the President’s manifest indisposition to resent a 
wanton and fearful indignity to the Republic, he dwelt 
upon the fact that the crisis might have been avoided if 
General Bussera had had homoeopathic treatment instead 
of the blistering and drenching with which Knox had for 
years striven to exterminate the human race ; and, 
finally, he promised that if the people would elevate him 
again to the Presidency, he would obtain prompt and 
certain satisfaction from Venezuela. 

Knox replied next day with a proclamation, in which 
he said that he had already made the following demand 
upon the Venezuelan Government, and that he should 
enforce it at the point of the bayonet if it should be 
refused : — 

I. A complete and satisfactory apology. 


MISS HAMMER ^S LO VERS. 


$ _ 


153 

• 2. An indemnity of fifty thousand dollars. 

3. The fishing up of Irene’s aunt from the bottom of 

the Gulf of Mexico. 

4. Restoration, in blue marble, with Gothic finish, of 

the Hammer sepulchre. 

5. Payment of Mr. Hammer s undertaker’s bill. 

While the matter was pending between the two Gov- 
ernments, and while some of the statesmen of Nicaragua 
were considering if it would not be a good idea to call 
a Central American Congress to discuss and dispose of 
the subject of Irene’s aunt. President Knox, one evening, 
rode out to Mr. Hammer’s house. On his way thither he 
was overtaken by General Flynn. He was surprised to 
learn that the General had the same destination. 

“ Flynn ! ” said Knox, “ if I tell you something, will 
you keep it a dead secret ? ” 

“ Of course ! ” 

“ I tell you because I want you to help me with old 
Hammer. Why, the fact is, Flynn, I have about made 
up my mind to marry Irene !” 

“ No 1 ” exclaimed the General. 

** Yes, sir. She has kind of half consented, and Pm 
going to press her this evening for a final answer. Pro- 
mise me that you will trot the old man off somewhere, so 
as to give me a clear field ! ” 

“ Pll see about it.” 

“ And if you have a chance, say a good word for me. 
I want his blessing. He has lots of money.” 

“ Lots of it.” 

“ And, Flynn ! ” 

“What?” 


154 


M/SS HAMMER 'S LOVERS. 


“ I wish you’d just mention, accidentally, as it were, in 
the presence of Irene, that Sandy is a phenomenal ass, 
and that his medical system is a sure road to sudden 
death ! ” 

Anything else that I can do for you ? ” 

“N — no! I believe not!. Well, you might perhaps 
just say that I have written a note to the President of 
Venezuela, to say that if he don’t sail out and personally 
dive for Irene’s aunt, I’ll kick him, if I have to chase him 
from the Gulf of Mexico to Terra del Fuego. Something 
of that kind.” 

Irene was at home, and she gave both visitors a hearty 
welcome. After a few moments’ conversation, President 
Knox began to wink furiously at the General, as a hint 
for him to drop out and search for Mr. Hammer ; but the 
General seemed not to notice it. The President, there- 
fore, was obliged to confine his remarks to unsentimental 
topics, and he began to tell Irene about the discovery of 
hot springs on General Curculio’s plantation, and of an 
effort the General was making to plant his coffee-trees 
around the springs, in the hope that when he bored them, 
as the New Englanders do their maples, the sap would 
run in the shape of hot coffee. During his observations, 
the servant announced Dr. Sandoval. 

When Sandoval entered, he was rather startled to see 
the two leaders of the Phlebotomist party ; but, after 
greeting Irene politely, he bowed stiffly to them, and con- 
cluded to remain. 

“ Have you heard anything further about your aunt, 
Miss Hammer?” asked Sandoval, maliciously. 

Nothing,” replied Irene, with some emotion. 


MISS HAMMER’S LOVERS. 


155 


“The Government is conducting negotiations,’’ said 
Knox, with dignity. “ We shall soon be able to take defi- 
nite action.” 

“ It is high time something was done, I think,” said 
Sandoval, to Irene. 

“ Miss Hammer is well aware that nothing more could 
be done than has been done,” replied Knox, winking 
again at the General, to persuade him to back him with 
the story of his note to the Venzuelan President. But the 
General held his peace. 

“ It is so unfortunate, too,” said Sandoval to Irene, 
“that Miss Appleby did not have proper medical attend- 
ance in Cuba.” 

“ Your method, I suppose, when a person is sea-sick, 
is to give them squills, or something to make them 
sicker,” said Knox. 

“ My method is not to let a person die from sea-sick- 
ness in two days.” 

“ You’d kill ’em in o_ne day, I reckon,” said Knox. 

“ Miss Hammer, you appreciate the absurdity of this 
kind of talk ? Miss Hammer, General, prefers the 
homoeopathic system,” said Sandoval. > 

“ Does she indeed ? ” replied the General. 

“ On the contrary, she inclines to the regular school. 
Do you not. Miss Irene t ” asked Knox. 

“ I think,” said Irene, ‘ that my preference is for the 
eclectic method.” 

“ The eclectic ? ” shouted Knox. 

It is impossible ! ” exclaimed Sandoval. 

“ That is the system I intend to study,” said Irene. 

“ Are you going to study } ” asked Knox. 


41 


T 5 6 AflSS HA MMER LO VERS. 


“Yes.” 

“ Not with a view to practise, of course?” said San 
doval. 

“ I intend to practise when I receive my diploma.” 

“To set up as a physician?” exclaimed Knox. 

“ Yes.” 

“ A woman doctor ! Well, who would have believed 
it ? ” said Sandoval. 

“ Are you in earnest ? ” asked Knox. 

“ She is,” said the General. 

“ Well, then, of course,” said Knox, with a hysterical 
laugh, “ I need go no further.” ^ 

“No further in what?’’ asked the General, rather 
fiercely. 

Well, as I regard a woman practitioner as— as — well, 
I will not say what — of course, Miss Hammer, all is over 
between us. I retract my recent offer.” 

General Flynn laughed. 

“What are you laughing at?” asked Knox. 

“ I don't see anything amusing about it,” said San- 
doval. “My medical society would expel me if I should 
confess acquaintance with a female physician.” 

“ Gentlemen,” said the General, rising and assuming 
1 martial air, “ perhaps this had better stop. Knox, you 
say you withdraw your offer to marry this lady ? ” 

“ Yes, sir ! ” 

“ Well, as she is already engaged to marry me, that 
performance appears to be, in a certain sense, superfluous. 
She wouldn’t have you if you were the only man left. She 
hates you worse than your patients hate your doses of 
assafoetida ” 


A//SS HAMMER'S LOVERS. 


157 


Engaged to you ! ” shrieked Knox. “ Impossible ! ” 
“ Andj Sandy,” said the General, “ your medical 
society won’t permit you to know her ? Well, sir, for 
fear that remarkable association should fail to act 
promptly, I give you notice that the acquaintance is 
discontinued from this date. Good morning ! By the 
way, Knox, as you go out, just tell to Mr. Hammer your 
story about the President of Venezuela, and mention your 
views about the dimensions of Mr. Hammer’s fortune. ’ 
The two physicians gritted their teeth, smiled grimly, 
bowed politely, and withdrew. 

“ Knox," said Sandoval, “ this is a queer business.” 
“Very !” 

“It means war on the administration, I think.” 

“ On you, too.” 

“ Wouldn’t it be a good idea to tie together ? ” 

“ I think so.” 

“ Here’s my hand ! ” 

“ And here’s mine ; and we’ll stand shoulder to 
shoulder in the fight against Flynn, women doctors, and 
the eclectic system ! ” 

General Flynn nudged up close to Irene when the 
visitors had gone, and as he took her hand, he said, 

“ Well, that’s a good riddance, anyhow. I knew they 
wouldn’t like your studying medicine. There is not 
enough work for them, as it is, and there’d be less if there 
was a doctor that cured instead of committing murder ! ” 
“ I’m afraid they are very angry, Terence ; perhaps 
they will do us some harm ? ” 

“ N ot unless they can persuade us to take some of 
their medicines, and we are far too intelligent for that.” 


MISS HAMMER^S LOVERS. 


Mr. Hammer came in, and the General explained the 
situation to him. He laughed, but presently, becoming 
grave, he said, 

“ But, Flynn, how about my taxes ? ' Knox will be sure 
to try to collect them for all the back’ years, as soon as he - 
returns to his office.” 

“ We can settle that easily enough.” 

“How?” 

“ Why, let’s have another revolution ! I’ll pronounce 
for you, and promise the country that as soon as you are 
President you will bring Venezuela to terms ; then you can 
knock off your own taxes. I will be your son-in-law, and we 
can keep this Government running as a kind of a nice 
little family affair.” 

, Mr. Hammer liked the project, and he agreed to it. 
In the morning. General Flynn issued a proclamation 
in which he declared Knox deposed from the Presidency 
as a traitor, in consequence of his neglect to avenge the 
wounded honour of his country. Mr. Hammer was 
announced as his successor, and in a general order to the 
army, Irene Hammer was promoted to the position of 
Surgeon -General of the Forces. 

Under ordinary circumstances. General Flynn would 
have carried the army with him, but as soon as the news 
spread among the men that Hammers success meant 
actual war with V-enezuela, quite one-half of the entire 
force- mutinied and went over to Knox and Sandoval. 
Among the seceders were all the brigadier-generals but 
Tejada. General De Campo said that he liked Flynn 
well enough, but he would never accompany an army upon 
a campaign in summer time unless there was ice-cream in 


M/SS HAMMER LOVERS, 


*59 


the commissary department. General Curculio said that 
if Venezuela had some other name he would fight her to 
the last gasp, but he had sworn, when he was a boy, 
never to conquer a country that spelled its name with a V. 
Colonel Grambo was actually hungry for a fight, but he 
was reading a serial story in a magazine, and he couldn’t 
bear the idea of going to Venezuela, lest he should miss 
one of the numbers. 

The half of the army that remained faithful to General 
Flynn did so because the men knew that the General had 
a habit of making his revolutions successful, and they 
preferred being upon the side that controlled the pay- 
rolls and the supplies. 

On the following day General Flynn sent a note to 
Knox, commanding him to surrender his office. Knox 
kicked the messenger down the Executive stairs. Then 
Flynn wrote another note, saying that he should move on 
the enemy at once. 

General Flynn’s half of the army was put under arms 
promptly, and in a few moments it moved in from the 
barracks towards the town. The Knox and Sandoval 
army were discovered drawn up in line of battle behind a 
post-and-rail fence just outside the town. 

When General Flynn saw it, he halted his force, and 
threw out four skirmishers toward the foe. The skir- 
mishers advanced twenty feet, but as the Government 
force actually aimed at them with muskets, they fell back 
suddenly in disorder upon the main line. 

General Flynn then rode bravely to the front, and 
commanded the enemy to surrender. In reply, Colonel 
Carboy, one of Knox’s aids, threw an old boot at him. 


i6o 


MISS HAMMER ^S LOVERS. 


The General resolved to give battle at once. Riding back 
to his line, he showed the enemy to his men, and ordered 
them to charge bayonets and take the position. Not a 
man stirred. “ Then fire at them ! ” shrieked the General 

Instantly every musket was discharged, and instantly 
the Government army arose from behind the fence and 
fled. Then Flynn’s army dashed forward and secured 
itself at the fence. A moment later Knox’s army fired a 
volley, and at once Flynn’s heroes fell back to their own 
line. 

These brilliant manoeuvres were continued for several 
hours ; and the fence was held by each army eleven suc- 
cessive times. The war began to be somewhat monoto- 
nous, and General Flynn resolved to execute a flank move- 
ment. He had just issued the necessary orders, when 
the booming of cannon fell upon his ear. There was 
heavy firing for several minutes, and both armies received 
such a scare as they had never before experienced. 
Scouts sent to the top of an adjacent hill returned with 
the startling report that a Venezuelan frigate was in the 
harbour bombarding the town. No sooner was the an- 
nouncement made, than the two armies arose simulta- 
neously, and fled towards the interior, making the best 
speed ever known in military operations in that region. 

General Flynn was left alone upon the field of battle. 
He felt discouraged, and naturally so. Sitting down upon 
a log, he picked up a piece of brick and began to sharpen 
his sword, when he heard sounds that indicated a woman 
in distress. Proceeding to a neighbouring thicket, he 
found Surgeon-General Irene Hammer, kneeling beside 
an open case of surgical instruments, sobbing. 



J. think it’s real mean 


said Irene 


i 62 


MISS HAMMEMS LOVERS. 


“ Why, my darling, what is the matter ? ” 

“ I think it’s real mean ! ” said Irene, crying harder. 

“ Mean, my angel 1 What is mean ?” 

“ Why, that nobody is wounded ! You’ve been fighting 
nearly all day, and there is not even a man with a scratch 
to put court-plaster over ! I didn’t expect such treatment 
as this.” 

“ I am very sorry, pet, but I couldn’t help it.” 

“What’s" the use of having a Surgeon- (general,” said 
Irene, looking up with tearful eyes, “ if nobody gets 
hurt.^ I don’t believe this can be the real kind of war. 
Napoleon and the Duke of Marlborough always had 
wounded.” 

“Yes, but, Irene,dear — ” 

“If you really loved me, you would at least have had 
one sabre cut for me to sew up, or a bullet to probe for. 
It’s a scandalous shame, that’s what it is.” 

“If you’ll forgive me, you shall have the very first case 
of accident that happens in the town, whether it is a man 
kicked by a mule or shot with a bullet.’’ 

“Will you promise?” 

“Yes, on my word of honour! And, Irene ?” 
“Well?” 

“ If that frigate out there really did shell the town 
perhaps there may be something for you to do, as it is— 
somebody blown in half, or splintered up, somehow ?” 

“ Suppose we go right in to see if there is ? ” 

“ Very well. The armies have fled, and I am going 
to meet the invader alone. The Commander-in-Chief is 
bound to do his duty, at all hazards! The cowardly 
rascals ! ” 


MISS HAMMER ^S LO VERS. 1 63 

The General helped Irene to mount her horse, and 
when he had leaped into his own saddle, the two galloped 
toward the town. As they entered the main street, they 
were surprised to see the flags flying, and the city in gala 
attire. The General could not imagine what was the 
matter. With his companion he pressed on toward the 
Executive mansion ; but when he approached it he was 
startled to see a guard of foreign soldiers drawn up in 
line before thf door. His first impulse was to retreat, 
but just then he perceived Mr. Hammer, now President 
Hammer, leaning from a window, and with smiling face 
beckoning the General and Irene to come to him. 

“ Well,” said the General, “ it is the queerest thing I 
ever encountered ; but as your father wants us to go, I 
reckon we had better do so ! ” 

“ Of course,” said Irene. 

As they rode up, the guard presented arms, and the 
General, helping Irene to alight, escorted her up the 
stairs. As they entered the President’s room, Mr. Ham- 
mer greeted them, and said — 

“ Ah ! glad to see you ! You have just come in time. 
Let me introduce you to President Maracaybo, of Vene- 
zuela ? Mr. President, my daughter ! General Flynn, 
the Commander-in-Chief of our army ! ” 

“ Delighted to meet you,” said President Maracaybo, 
as he shook hands with the General and Irene. 

“ You are very kind,” said Irene. 

“ Gives me much pleasure, I assure you !” said the 
General. “ Only 1 don’t quite understand the— the — ” 

‘‘ Of course you don’t,” said President Hammer, 
laughing. His Excellency has come to pay us a long- 


164 


MISS HA MMER 'S LO VERS. 


promised visit, and we propose to give him a hearty 
welcome.” 

“ But the cannonading that we heard ?” said Irene. 

“He came in the frigate El Ctispador — splendid 
vessel !” said Mr. Hammer, “ and she was firing a salute.’' 

“ Our international complication, then,” said the 
General, “is in a fair way of being arranged ?” 

“ Bless your soul, man, there is no complication,” said 
Mr. Hammer. ^ 

“ How then — what is — how about the — the — that is, 
how about Irene’s aunt ?” demanded the General. 

“ Your Excellency must answer that question,” said 
Mr. Hammer, turning to the visitor. 

“ Certainly,” said the latter gentleman. 

Then he arose, opened the door of the adjoining 
room, and remarked — 

“ My love ? ” 

A lady appeared, took his hand, entered the room with 
him, and lifted her veil. 

It was Sarah Appleby, Irene’s aunt. 

Irene uttered a little scream, and fainted. The 
General turned as white as the wall. 

“ You here !” he said. “ We thought you were dead !” 

“ Is it really you, aunt asked Irene, faintly, as she 
opened her eyes. 

“ Certainly it is ! Who else should it be.? How are 
you, my child ? I am glad to see you again, I assure 
you. And, General, you seem to be well, as usual .?” 

“Yes; but — but— how do you explain the — ” 

“ It was all a mistake, sir,” said Irene’s aunt. “ 1 was 
not really dead, only in a condition of suspended ani- 


MISS 'HAMMER LOWERS. 


165 


mation — a mere case of catalepsy. I revived the very 
next morning after they put me in that abominably damp 
tomb. If I find out who circulated those wicked stories 
about me floating in the Gulf, I’ll pull his nose.” 

“ Well, Miss Appleby — ” began the General. 

“No,” interposed President Maracaybo, “not Miss 
Appleby ! She is now Madame Maracaybo ! She is my 
wife. Her case interested me so much that I became 
interested in^er. She accepted me, we were married, 
and here we are !” 

Irene flew into her aunt’s arms, and kissed her ten- 
derly Then President Maracaybo approached, and said— 

“ Permit your uncle to salute you, also !” and he kissed 
her affectionately. He was about to repeat the operation, 
when the General said— 

“ Once is enough, I think, your Excellency,” and led 
her away. 

“ So you will be at our wedding, after all ?” observed 
the General to Irene’s aunt 

“ Oh, yes.” 

“ And I shall dance with you ?” 

“You may, if you can persuade the army band to 
remain quiet long enough.” 

“ And I will dance with my niece,” said President 
Maracaybo. 

“ I’ll make the band play, and stop you, if you do,” 
replied the General, with a look between a smile and a 
frown. 

The wedding followed within a week, and it was the 
most brilliant festival ever witnessed in the Republic. AH 
the brigadier-generals were present in full uniform. They 


i66 


MISS HAMMER'S LOVERS. 


y 


swore allegiance to the Hammer Government as soon as 
they were perfectly sure that the war was over. President 
Hammer put an end to the revolutionary business, and 
he conducted affairs with a strong hand. His first act, 
after the wedding, was to send Knox and Sandoval into 
perpetual exile. They went to Yucatan, and began to 
practice medicine with the result that the death-rate of 
the country, in a single year, increased a little over fifteen 
per cent. 






0urttam««t 




WITH A FEW THOUGHTS RESPECTING THE 
NOCTURNAL SERENADE. 



UR forefathers unconsciously did us 
a great injury when they clothed 
the nocturnal serenader with an air 
of romance and poetry, and fixed 
in the traditions of the race the 
theory that a musical performance, 
such as he offers, is a thing to be 
desired. In the old, old times, 
there may have been some justifi- 
cation for this doctrine. Musical 
instruments were scarce ; musical 
skill was rare; the piano had not 
been created, and the world had 
yet to note the birth of the monster 
who was to invent the bass drum. 
When there was very little music 
of any kind to be had, that 
person was excusable who found 
satisfaction in having his or her 
midnight slumbers disturbed by 
the tinkling of a lute beneath 


i68 THE GLEE-CLUB TOURNAMENT 

the chamber window. There was reason for the decla* 
ration that 

“ The gentlest of all sounds are those full of feeling 
That soft from the lute of some lover are stealing.” 

The listener felt a glow of gratitude to the enthusiastic 
young man who turned out in the cold in doublet and 
thin tights^ and performed for an hour or two, while the 
dew on the grass sent spasms of iheumalism up through 
his legs. And it is not surprising that lovers found this 
the most certain method of capturing the female heart. 
The charmer, being sleepy, could not readily determine if 
be sang flat ; the night being dark, she could not witness 
the distortions of his face consequent upon his efforts to 
reach the high notes ; there was nothing to detract from 
the romantic interest of the occasion, while a certain 
sympathy, the prelude to affection, was born of her know- 
ledge that the singer was taking a great deal of trouble 
for her sake. Those were the days when the nocturnal 
serenade had a basis of wisdom and strong good sense. 
But those days have passed, and the serenader is still 
here. 

We live in an age when no man can inhabit any 
community without having next door a girl with a piano. 
If he cannot satiate himself with her music, he can 
hammer some out of his own piano, or he can haunt the 
opera house and concert room. Somewhere, under some 
conditions, he can obtain during waking hours enough 
music to last him until next morning. The nocturnal 
serenader, therefore, is not a necessity. He is, in fact, 
an intolerable bore. He supplies something that nobody 



A boot or a pitcher of water hiirled at the minstrel," — Page 170 . 


THE GLEE- CLUB TOURNAMENT. 


170 

wants, and he forces it on us at a time when we want 
nothing of any sort but peace and quietness. Moreover, 
he comes no more in the guise of a solo singer who picks 
out soft accompaniments upon a lute. If he did appear 
in such a form, we might have redress. A boot, a 
cake of soap, a pitcherful of water hurled at such a min- 
strel would convey clearly to his mind the impression 
that the audience _was ready to have the performance 
brought to a conclusion ; and if he did not catch the idea, 
we would call a policeman. 

But the modern serenader always comes with a squad. 
If he is affluent or especially enthusiastic, he brings a brass 
band, special care being taken to entrust the bass drum 
and cymbals to men of enormous muscular power, who 
are convinced that they are the only musicians who are 
really of any importance as contributors to the harmony. 
At midnight they range themselves upon the pavement 
beneath the victim’s window and begin : 

“ So swells each windpipe ; ass intones to ass, 

Harmonic twang of leather, horn, and brass.’’ 

The serenaded man bounces from bed with a dire 
feeling that Daniel’s prophecy concerning the end of all 
things is being fulfilled, and when he recovers his senses 
he remembers with indignation that he has perhaps to 
catch an early train and to perform duties for which the 
loss of sleep will unfit him. Meantime, several hundred 
other families in the neighbourhood are awakened by the 
racket ; good men objurgate, sick people moan and sigh, 
multitudinous babies rend the air with wild and piercing 
shrieks, innumerable dogs fill the night with ululations, 


THE GLEE-CLUB TOURNAMENT. 171 

and a quiet neighbourhood is suddenly transformed into 
a Pandemonium. But the remorseless bass drummer 
vies with the cymbal player in the vigour of his blows, 
the cornet utters fiendish blasts, and the E flat horn, 
mayhap, plays flatter than its inventor ever intended it 
should. 

This is bad enough. There are few things which are 
worse than the nocturnal brass band ; and one of the few 
is the nocturnal glee club. It is the common failing of 
man to believe that he can do in the best manner the very 
thing for which nature has specially disqualified him. One 
of the most frequent forms of delusion is that which in- 
duces a man who can’t sing to feel assured that he can. 
When a young man with a voice like a crow, and an ear 
that is large enough for everything but music, has such 
faith, he inevitably drifts into a glee club composed of 
others like him. Here he is either placed among the 
basses, where he produces a noise similar to that which 
proceeds from a bark-mill in active motion ; or he is 
pushedjn among the tenors, where he tries to sing falsetto 
through his nose ; other misguided youths meanwhile 
roam about the scale in futile efforts to discover the 
soprano and contralto parts. 

When the club, by long practice, has fitted itself for 
its evil work, it selects some unfortunate fellow- creature, 
and determines to serenade him. Then, in the most 
solemn stillness of the night, it wakes the echoes of a 
quiet street with a diabolical congregation of discords, 
the refrain of which, perhaps, in bitter mockery, implores 
the aroused and enraged listener to “ Slumber on in sweet 
repose,” the basses growling while the tenors enlarge 


172 


THE GLEE-CLUB TOURNAMENT. 


their nostrils in malignant efforts to make themselves dis* 
gustingly vociferous. 

If such serenaders as these had lived in the old, old 
times, when the wrath of man expended itself in vindictive 
action, we should have had less poetry upon the subject, 
and the coroners of the period would have had more 
business. Unhappily, modern society is constructed in 
such a manner that a jury will refuse to acquit a serenaded 
person who fires handsful of bullets into a boisterous glee- 
club. Thus there is no defence for the peaceable citizen 
but through the instrumentality of the law ; but the law 
ought to give him a remedy. One of the first rights of 
man is the right to peace and quietness at night ; and 
when we are completely civilized, the fact will be recog- 
nized, and the officers of law will consign to a dungeon a 
bass drummer or a nasal tenor who ventures to trespass 
upon the repose of the sleeping citizen. 

These remarks may serve as an introduction to a brief 
narrative of two glee-club experiences, in both of which 
that form of vocal organization really did obtain something 
like retributive justice. 

Soon after the Orpheus Glee Club of the village of 
Blank was formed, a proposal was made that a serenade 
should be given to Miss Peterson, a young lady who was 
admired by all the members, but for whom the president 
was known to have a specially tender feeling. 

The proposal was agreed to, and for two or three 
evenings the club practised with such energy and assiduity 
as to excite strong discontent among the people who lived 
in the vicinity of the club-room. 

Upon the appointed night, precisely at twelve, the 


THE GLEE’ CLUB TOURNAMENT. 


173 


club sallied forth. It carried neither lamp nor music, the 
members feeling confident that they could depend upon 
memory to enable them to go properly through the pro- 
gramme. 

After a rapid walk, the residence of Miss Peterson was 
reached, and the club halted upon the pavement in front 
of it. The windows showed no light of any kind, and the 
club rejoiced to think that the lovely Peterson would be 
awakened sweetly from her slumbers by the harmony 
which it would forthwith produce. The first and second 
tenors ranged themselves together, while the first and 
second basses took their appropriate places. 

The leader gave the pitch in a low voice, and the club 
dashed gallantly into “ Sweet be thy slumber, darling.” 
There were four verses, each ending with a chorus. When 
the piece was concluded, every eye in the club was raised 
to the windows, to catch the first glimpse of the head of 
the enchanting Peterson. But she did not appear. There 
was nothing to indicate that anyone in the house had 
heard the music so-called. 

“ We must put on a little more pressure,*’ said the 
leader. “ They don’t seem to hear us.” 

So the club tuned up, and presently emitted the 
words of the song : “ Star of the evening, beautiful star.” 
The singers filled their lungs bravely, and emptied them 
vigorously, the tenors trying to drown out the basses, 
and ^he basses growling away in such a manner that 
the tenors hardly considered they had fair play. 

As the final cadence died away upon the midnight 
air, the club looked to the windows with eager expec- 
tation, feeling sure that Miss Peterson would give some 


174 


THE GLEE-CLUB TOURNAMENT. 


token of delight. But, strange to say, the windows re- 
mained closed ; and no one appeared. 

‘‘ Maybe she sleeps in a back room,” suggested Phil- 
pott, one of the tenors. 

“ No,” said the president ; " her little brother told me 
that her room was that one, there, in the front.” 

“ She must be a very sound sleeper, then,” said the 
leader. “ Let’s give her a roaring song, fortisshno^ and 
see if we can’t get her up.” 

Then the club, taking the pitch, plunged into, “ Hail, 
happy Morn and sang with such vehemence, that it 
might have been heard miles away. While the perform- 
ance was proceeding, the singers heard the noise of the 
lifting of a window-sash, and their eyes involuntarily 
sought the house. But no ; it was a window of the house 
next door on the right. From this a head protruded, 
listening. When the music was hushed, a voice said ; 

“ Halloa there ! What are you fellows about ? ” 

“ Singing.” 

“ What for?” 

“ Serenading Miss Peterson.'^ 

“ Who ? ” 

“Miss Peterson.” 

The man at the window gave a short laugh and with 
drew. But Miss Peterson was yet to be heard from. 

“ I don’t understand it,” said the president, somewhat 
mystified, “ she must have heard us.” 

“ Mighty queer,” said Philpott, “ most women are so 
fond of serenades, too.” 

“ Let’s quit and go home,” remarked Quigg, one of the 
basses. 


THE GLEE- CL UB ' TOURNAMENT 


175 


“ Oh, no,” quickly rejoined the president. “We ought 
to give her one more chance. Try her with ‘Row, 
Brothers, Row ! ’ and sing it loud.” 

The club put all its strength into the song, and in the 
midst of the 
harmony ano- 
ther window 
was heard 
opening. A 
moment later 
an old boot 
descended 
among the 
singers. They 
stopped. The 
missile came 
from a house 
upon the 

side of Peterson’s. Before the president could express his 
indignation respecting the boot, a voice said : 

“ Why don’t you vagabonds shut up and go home ? 
It’s an outrage for you to be howling out there at this 
time of night.” 

“Mind your own business,” replied the president. 
“We’re not troubling you. We’re serenading Miss 
Peterson.” 

“ Who?” 

“ Miss Peterson. Go to bed and hush.” 

This man also laughed, and said something to 
another person who was heard to laugh too. The club 
began to feel angry; especially as none of the ‘Pet gi- 



176 THE GLEE-CLUB TOURNAMENT. 


son family appeared to pay the smallest attention to the 
serenade. 

“ One more, and then if she don’t come we’ll stop,” 
said the president. 

The man at the window laughed again and remained 
to listen. The club began to sing, “ Angels Watch Over 
Thee ! ” and it sang with the loud 
pedal on. But the chorus of the 
eighth verse died away, and still the 
bewildering Peterson failed to signify 
her delight. 

“ Give her another one, boys,” said 
the man at the window. “ Maybe you 
haven’t sung anything she likes.” 

The club was annoyed by the remark, but it scorned 
to notice such impertinence. 

“ I wonder what can be the matter,” said Philpott. 

“ Maybe we’ve got the wrong house,” exclaimed Quigg. 

“ Oh, no ! I know the house well enough,” replied the 
president. 

“ Well, it’s very queer,” said the leader. 

Is there a door-plate on the door .? ” asked Quigg. 

“ Certainly,” replied the president, “ don’t you see it 
That white thing there.” 

“ Strike a match, and let’s look at it,” said Philpott. 

The leader went up the steps, followed by the club. 
He struck a match. Then every member of the club saw 
a placard upon which was written in large letters the 
legend : 



‘‘This House for Rent.' 


THE GLEE-CLUB TOURNAMENT. 


177 



The shock was so great that for a moment nobody spoke. 
Then Philpott said softly : 

“By George, they have moved! ” 


The man 
at the win- 
dow then observed : 

“ She heard you 
were coming, boys, 
and she packed up 
and fled; she has gone into the country for the summer. 
Probably she will never come back until she hears that 
you have disbanded.” 

If the club had followed its impulses it would have 


178 THE GLEE- CLUB TOURNAMENT. 


reduced that man to mincemeat at once. But it walked 
sadly away, and each man went to his own home. 

At the next meeting, a bye-law was adopted providing 
that no serenade should be undertaken unless an under- 
standing should first be had with the person to whom the 
compliment was offered. 

A few months later, what was called “A Glee- Club 
Tournament” was held in the village, and five or six 
other clubs joined the Orpheus in a singing contest for a 
prize. 

The performance need not be described. It will be 
sufficient to say that the memory of that night of horror 
will linger long in the minds of the peacefully-disposed 
inhabitants of the town. A committee of expert musicians 
sat in judgment upon the efforts of the contestants, and 
its opinions were given a week later in a formal report, of 
which the following is the conclusion : 

THE REPORT. 

I 

“ If the prize had been offered for originality in the 
treatment of the given themes, we should have no difficulty 
in deciding to award it to the Orpheus Club. The method 
of this organization is wholly new to us. The manner in 
which the tenors kept two beats ahead of the voices that 
carried the air was of itself surprising, but not more so 
than the evident belief of the singers that successful tenqr 
singing is achieved by closing the mouth and emitting 
shrill sounds through the nose. The basses, on the other 
hand, seemed each to compose his own part as he went 
along, thus making the harmony as peculiar as it was 
amusing. Our prejudices have always been in favour of 


THE GLEE-CLUB TOURNAMENT 


r 


179 


a bass that afforded a full, deep, resonant tone, but if the 
theory of the Orpheus Club is correct, a bass voice in action 
should bear a close resemblance to the sound made by a 
boy who rattles a stick along the palings of a fence. Add 
to this the fact that the members of the club have no more 
accurate notion of time than if all of them had been born 
and educated in eternity, and we reach the conclusion 
that the Orpheus Club is hardly entitled to the prize. 

“In considering the performance of the Apollo Club, 
we encounter a formidable difficulty at the outset. We 
are unable to determine precisely what it was they sang. 
In the programme, ‘ Bright and Cheery was the Morn’ 
was allotted to them, but while part of the Committee 
think that the music really sung was that of ‘ Old Hun- 
dred,’ and while another part insist that it was a distorted 
fragment of Wagner’s music, the remainder of the Com- 
mittee insist that it was really a combination of the two, 
with here and there brief snatches interpolated from 
‘ Bright and Cheery was the Morn.’ The Committee 
deeply regret the presence of this element of uncertainty, 
because they are unanimous upon almost every other 
point. They are confident that the club would become 
very efficient if it would secure a body of new members 
who have good voices and know how to sing, and would 
promptly expel every person at present belonging to the 
organization, with the exception, perhaps, of the leader, 
who ought to be retained either as a curiosity, or as a 
student who needs to learn that the mere frantic bran- 
dishing of a stick, without regard to rhythm or time, may . 
be profitable as a muscular exercise, but certainly is not 
valuable in a musical sense. 


THE GLEE- CLUB TOURNAMENT. 


tSb 


“ The Cecilian Club has the gift of^ power * to a 
remarkable degree. If the purpose of the organization 
were to produce war-whoops, to vend vegetables and fish 
in the public streets, or to do duty as a fog-signal upon 
the coast ; or, indeed, if the emotions of the human soul 
could be expressed in ear-piercing yells, the club would 
have opening out before it a bright and beautiful future, in 
which success would surely follow as the reward of 
earnest effort. But the Committee, wrongfully, perhaps, 
have yielded to a conviction that when eighteen stalwart 
young men, each with a capacity for pouring forth from 
their lungs six hundred cubic feet of air a minute, sing 
‘ Hush Thee, my Baby,’ with such vehemence that the 
refrain may possibly be heard in Peru, the spirit of the 
composition somehow is missed, and the sentiment suffers 
irreparable injury. We may err in proffering advice, but 
we feel it to be our duty to suggest that this club will give 
pleasure in exact ratio with its diminution of lung-force. 
And, perhaps, it will afford most satisfaction when it learns 
to sing so that it cannot be heard by anybody without an 
ear-trumpet. 

“Of the singing of the Orion Club we speak with 
mingled indignation and regret. Our fathers died for 
this country. The blood of patriots has made it free. 
Its soil has been bedewed with the tears of the widows 
and orphans whose loved ones perished in the struggle 
to secure our liberties. We have reared a fair fabric of 
government, and declared our purpose to protect the 
people in the enjoyment of their rights. And yet we seem 
to have failed utterly to secure popular happiness and 
peaceful repose, because we are confronted with the pos- 


THE GLEE-CLUB TOURNAMENT. 


i8i 


sibility that such organization as the Orion Glee Club may 
prowl around over our beloved land, rending the air of 
liberty with shrieks and howls, and assailing the ear- 
drums of the children of freedom with a diabolical con- 
gregation of noises of which a Pawnee Indian, charged 
full with fire-water and crazed with delirium, would be 
ashamed. Of course, we cannot award it a prize ; but 
we recommend the people who live in the town in which 
it exists to offer it a large pecuniary inducement to 
disband. 

“ As for the Mozart Club, its performance was uni- 
formly of a kind that would have hurried Mozart to an 
earlier grave if he could have heard it. Its grace notes 
were disgraceful. It took all the andante passages 
rapidly, and the lento passages quickly. When there was 
a slur it sang staccato, and where light and vivacious 
treatment was demanded, it sang as if it were working off 
a dirge at a funeral. The ascent of the scale by some of 
the singers, when the music descended, we attribute to 
the circumstance that some of them held their note-books 
upside-down. The leader beat eight kinds of time within 
seven minutes, and the tenors persistently followed the 
air, while the basses, it is believed, were singing the 
wrong piece, or else were trying to introduce variations 
of the original music. 

Upon the whole, therefore, we decline to award the 
prize. Where all were so bad, where all displayed 
ignorance of music quite as dense as that of a deaf and 
dumb man concerning eloquence, we cannot conscien- 
tiously give to either a reward of merit. We shall make 
our experience the basis of an immediate demand upon 


82 


THE GLEE-CLUB TOURNAMENT. 


the legislature for the passage of a law making member- 
ship in a glee club punishable with death, unless a genuine 
acquaintance with music is obtained beforehand.” 

When the clubs read the report they were discouraged, 
but all of them remain in a condition of boisterous 
activity, and the legislature has not yet done its duty. 




)aui fatfe ut3$ 



VERYBODY agreed that Jack Forbes had 
not been treated fairly. The squire, the 
clergyman, the cackling old ladies at the 
sewing bee, the baker, the milkman, the 
members of the Cecilian Society — in fact, 
all the prominent people of Banglebury admitted 
that the treatment which Jack Forbes had received 
from Jenny Brown, was the roughest that had ever been 
inflicted upon a clever young man by a good-looking girl. 

The whole story was as follows : In May, Miss Brown 
had come to Banglebury, fresh from a winter’s gaiety in 
the city, where her parents lived. It was whispered about 
that she was sent to the village to remain with her uncle. 
Judge Bates, in order to separate her from a youth who 
had made a deep impression upon her at home. But this 
was merely a rumour, which seemed to be denied by the 
light-heartedness and joyous spirits of the fair maiden. 

, At any rate, it did not deter Mr. Forbes from falling 
in love with her, after a very brief acquaintance, and show- 


1 84 HOW JACK FORBES WAS A VENGED. 


ing her that devoted attention which is the usual method 
of expressing such a tender passion. 

Miss Jenny received these little demonstrations as if 
she liked them ; and although F orbes never could get his 
courage quite up to the point of declaration, he did not 
entertain a single doubt of her devotion to him. Night 
after night, he took her to concerts and lectures, and sing- 
ing-school, and sociables, dancing and singing with her, 
and walking home with her in the moonlight and the 
starlight, with his heart knocking at his ribs as if it was 
bent upon fracturing them, and his soul so full of tender 
fear that he could talk of nothing but the most absurdly 
commonplace and prosy subjects. 

Of course Forbes behaved very foolishly. He could 
not reasonably expect Miss Brown to parade around the 
country with him for ever without having an understand- 
ing, particularly when the whole village talked about the 
matter : and Forbes, therefore, bad no right to complain 
when Mr. Dulcitt, the new singing-master, soon after his 
arrival in the town, began to trespass in F orbes’s baili- 
wick, and to engage an unpleasantly large share of Miss 
Brown’s time and attention. 

Mr. Dulcitt was a mild young man, with light hair and 
weak eyes, which were protected by spectacles. He had 
a room at Mrs. Megonegal’s, where he used to practise 
upon the flute, until the other boarders would rage and 
tear up and down the entries, and consign Dulcitt and his 
flute to a place which Dulcitt, we sincerely hope, will 
never reach, and where a flute, under any circumstances 
would be entirely useless. 

But Dulcilt’s strong point was vocalism. He could 


HO W JA CK FORBkS WAS A VENGED, i S5 


sing with such tremendous power that people wondered 
how he contrived to get so great a volume out of so small 
a body. A rumour spread about that his legs were hol- 
low, and constructed like organ pipes, and that he had 
bellows in his boots. However, he was a good singer — 
there was no manner of doubt about that ; and when he 
stood up in front of his class in the town hall, and led 
them through some spirited chorus, he created so much 
enthusiasm for himself, that the miserable Mr. Forbes 
cowered in the back part of the room so angry that he 
could hardly help along the chorus with that dreadful 
bass voice of his. 

But his anger was mere good-humour at such times, 
to the ferocious rage with which he regarded the mild- 
eyed Dulcitt when he descended from the platform and 
beamed through his spectacles upon Jenny, as he offered 
her his arm and swept her past poor old Forbes, without 
even a glance at his rival. To make matters worse, every- 
body in the class understood the situation, and all eyes 
were turned upon Jack to see how he would bear it. 

Everybody considered Miss Jenny’s conduct highly 
improper. The young ladies thought so because Mr. 
Dulcitt had neglected them. The young gentlemen 
entertained the opinion because each man had a private 
impression that such behaviour would have been justifiable 
only if Jack had been forsaken for him. 

One cold night in December,, the Cecilian Society met 
to practise some music for a concert which was to be 
given during the holidays. Dulcitt, and all the members 
of his singing- school were present. After the rehearsal, 
Dulcitt and Miss Brown went away arm-in-arm, as usual. 


1 86 HOW JACK FORBES WAS A VENGED. 


Forbes decided to bring matters to a crisis that very 
night. He resolved to watch the house of Judge Bates 
until Dulcitt and Miss Brown should part at the front 
door, and then to plunge in and propose to his fair deluder 
at once. He lived next door to the Judge ; and so putting 
his hat firmly on his head, he left the hall and darted 
quickly around through a back street so that he might 
reach home before Dulcitt and Jenny arrived. 

As he entered the gate of his front yard and sat down 
in the darkness of the porch, he saw them coming slowly 
'down the street. His* dog ran up to him and began to 
caper about and bark ; but Jack forced him to lie down 
beside him and keep quiet, while his rival approached 
with his enslaver. 

They came very deliberately and passed by, conversing 
in such soft tones that the wretched listener could not 
understand a word. She reached the Judge’s door. Dulcitt 
stood and talked for a while, F orbes meantime shivering 
with cold and impatient for his departure. But after a 
little parley, Dulcitt actually went into the house. Jack 
Forbes groaned aloud; and then, after giving his dog a 
kick that sent him howling away behind the house. Jack 
cleared the fence at a bound and was in Judge Bates’s 
garden. 

The Judge had his library room upon the second floor, 
and Mr. Forbes had just gotten beneath the window when 
the lamp was lighted and Miss Jenny appeared in the act 
of removing her bonnet. It was a mean thing to do, a 
mean thing even for a desperate lover, but Forbes decided 
to clamber into the tree that stood by the window so that 
he might look with his own eyes upon the perfidy of the 


BOJV JACK FORBES WAS A VENGED. 187 


woman to whom he had given his love. After a series of 
difficult gymnastics, during which he tore his coat and 
knocked the skin off his hands, he reached a place from 
which he could peer into the room. Yes, there was J enny, 
sitting in front of the fire, and Dulcitt by her side, with 
his arm on the back of her chair, with his glasses turned 
full upon her, and his faded eyes gazing at her, just as 
Jack’s used to gaze. Forbes felt his heart sink within 
him at this spectacle, but he determined to sit on that 
limb all night if it was necessary, in order to see all that 
happened, and to ascertain precisely how matters stood. 
Hardly had he formed the resolution, when Jenny came 
to the window and pulled down the curtain. 

“ It’s of no use,” said Jack, in despair; and he began 
to descend the tree, when the door of the house opened 
and somebody came out. It was so dark that Jack could 
only distinguish a figure which he thought resembled that 
of the Judge. 

The Judge walked towards the stable whistling, mean- 
while, to a large dog that accompanied him. Jack had 
heard the Judge express his determination to procure a 
dog to protect that very stable. Doubtless this was the 
animal. 

“ But the best thing for me to do will be to keep quiet 
until the Judge goes in,” said Jack. To his horror, how- 
ever, he saw dimly the figure of the dog coming towards 
the tree, and a moment later the animal stood beneath 
him barking loudly. Jack thought then he should surely 
be discovered. But no, strange to say, the Judge walked 
slowly back to the house and closed the door, leaving his 
dog under the tree. After barking a few moments moro, 


1 88 HO IV JACK FORBES WAS A VENGED. 


the brute lay down, and seemed determined to make a 
night of it. Mr. Forbes, from his cool and lofty perch, re- 
garded the indistinct black figure beneath him with anguish. 



“ Good gracious,” he said, “ suppose the confounded 
brute should stay there all night ! ” 

Then he thought he would wait until the dog got to 
sleep, and creep gently down without waking him. 


JlOfV JACK FORBES IVAS A VENGED 189 


Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed, with Jack blowing 
the fingers of one hand while with the other he balanced 
himself on the limb. He began to descend. But at the 
very first motion the dog leaped up and began barking 
again. He tried the experiment a second time, and, just 
as the ferocious brute stretched himself upon the ground, 
after another demonstration. Jack caught sight of two 
shadows kissing each other upon the curtain. Then the 
light was turned out, and presently he heard the front 
door open, and saw Dulcitt dance along beneath the 
street-lamp, as if he were practising a fandango. 

It occurred to the unfortunate Mr. Forbes to call to 
him. “ But, no ! ” ejaculated Forbes ; “ I will freeze into 
solid ice first ; hang me if I don’t ! ” and he stamped on 
the limb so violently that it roused the dog, who barked 
savagely. 

“ Let us try what kindness will do,” said Mr. Forbes, 
making that peculiar noise which resembles the sound of 
kissing — a noise which is supposed to soothe a dog, but 
which cannot be written. 

Poor fellow ! poor old dog ! come here, poor fellow ! ” 
(Kissing noise again ; then a whistle.) 

But the dog barked more vociferously than ever, and 
pranced around the tree as if the only boon he wanted in 
this life was a chance to bite a chop from Mr. F orbes’s leg. 

“ Here, Pont ! here, old fellow ! (kissing noise again) 
— come here, old dog ! here, poor fellow ! here. Jack ! ” 

More violent demonstrations of blood-thirstiness on 
the part of the now franctic animal. 

“Here, Jack! Here! Rats! rats ! rats ! ketch *em, 
Jack! ” exclaimed Mr. Forbes, with the ingenuity of des- 


190 J/OIV JACK FORBES WAS A VENGED. 


pair. Rats were not the game wanted at that moment, 
apparently, by “Jack.” Meditation upon the succulency 
of Mr. Forbes’s calf seemed to have filled him with 
frenzy, for he capered and howled, and howled and 
capered, worse than ever. 

“ Lie down, sir ! ” said Jack, trying a new plan ; “lie 
down, sir ! keep quiet ! go home ! go home, I tell you ! ” 
and he descended two or three feet upon the tree. This 
seemed to. make the animal more outrageous, for now he 
leaped up the trunk and tried his very best to get even a 
nip at Mr. Forbes’s boots, barking all the time as if he 
had been wound up and his vocal apparatus was kept 
going with a spring. 

So Jack climbed back to the most comfortable place 
he could find, reluctantly convinced that he should have 
to stay in the tree until morning. 

He seated himself astride of a limb, with his back 
against the trunk, and put his hands in his pockets to 
keep them warm. Presently the dog became quiet, and 
Jack sat there looking up at the stars, which seemed to 
wink at him through the frosty air as if to say, “ Got you 
now, old fellow. Nice fix you’re in, isn’t it 

Then he began to think about trees in general. He 
thought of Wm. Penn’s treaty tree, and of the picture 
that he had seen of the proscribed royalist hid in a hollow 
tree, with a pretty girl giving him food. And he wished 
Jenny would only come downstairs and hand him some- 
thing warm and comfortable. He remembered that 
cheerful anecdote which relates how the ’coon, which 
was treed by Captain Scott, of Kentucky, promised 
to come down if the Captain would not shoot, and Mr. 


^ now JACK FORBES WAS A VENGED. 191 


Forbes thought what a lucky ’coon it was to be able to 
come down when it chose. And there was the old story 
about Charles the Second hiding in an oak, with the 
soldiers beneath looking for him. J ack thought that he 
would rather have a whole hostile army encamped under 
that tree of his, at the present moment, than that infernal 
dog, which lay there as calm and quiet as if nothing was 
the matter. 

Then the stars began to dance about in the sky, and 
to multiply, and Jack caught himself nodding and dream- 
ing so that once he nearly lost his balance and fell. He 
had always heard that sleepiness was a symptom of freez- 
ing to death, so he jumped up and began clambering up 
and down the branches to keep himself warm. This set 
the dog to barking again, and it made such a fearful 
racket that at last Judge Bates flung up his window and 
threw a missile of some kind at the animal, accompanied 
with an angry word or two. Jack could stand it no 
longer ; so he cried out : — 

“ Judge ! Judge Bates ! ’’ 

“ Holloa ! Who’s there ” said the Judge, nervously. 

“ I ; Jack Forbes ; I am up this tree, and I can’t get 
down because of this confounded dog of yours.” 

“ Of mine.^ I have no dog,” said the Judge. 

Well, at anyrate, there’s a ferocious dog here, and I 
can’t get down. I am freezing to death ; actually 
freezing,” said Jack, pathetically. 

“ Wait a moment, until I get dressed,” said the Judge, 
closing the window. 

In five minutes or ten, the Judge came to the door 
with a lantern in his hand, while Mrs. Bates, and Jenny 


192 HOJV JACK FORBES WAS A VENGED. 


Brown, and the three servant girls stood at their respec- 
tive windows, wrapped in shawls, surveying the scene with 
eager and excited interest. 

The Judge came forward, cautiously, and spoke to the 
dog. It leaped toward him instantly. The Judge laughed. 

“Why, Jack, this is your own dog,” he said. 

“ No ! that can’t be,” replied Jack. 

“But it is, though,” said the Judge, convulsed with 
laughter, and holding the lantern close to the brute. 

It was too true. Forbes, in his nervousness and fear, 
had mistaken the friendly capers and yelps of the dog for 
manifestations of ferocity on the part of some other 
animal. 

Mr. Forbes slid down from the tree hastily, but sadly; 
and while he explained the whole matter frankly to the 
Judge, begging him to say nothing about it, the Judge 
laughed so violently that Mrs. Bates and Jenny came 
running downstairs, thinking he had a hysterical fit. And 
Mr. Forbes climbed over the fence hurriedly, and went 
shivering to bed, without even saying good-night to the 
family. 

It was useless to try to keep the matter quiet. It was 
absurd to suppose the Judge would neglect to tell such a 
good story. But if he had remained silent, it would have 
been of no use; for Mrs. Bates, and Jenny, and the 
servants, each related it to a different circle next day. 
And so everybody in Banglebury knew about it before 
another sun had set, and Jack had fun poked at him 
everywhere he went Even in the Singing Society those 
who had at first given him their sympathies turned against 
him, and laughed at Dulcitt’s jokes upon the subject 


HO W JA CK FORBES WAS A VENGED. 1 9 3 


Jack went downstairs and swore an awful oath that he 
would be revenged. But how ? Assassination of Dulcitt, 
with a butcher-knife, in a dark corner, some night, sug- 
gested itself ; 'or the intermixture of bug poison with Mrs. 
Megonegal’s hash, or hurling Mr. Dulcitt into the river ; 
or blowing out his brains with a pistol — all occurred to 
him, but he gave them up as promising unpleasant conse- 
quences to himself. Then he thought he would smash 
Mr. Dulcitt’s spectacles with his fists ; he pondered upon 
horsewhips, and considered their relative severity to clubs 
and canes. He went home and retired to bed, trying to 
decide precisely which would be the best method of 
making Mr. Dulcitt suffer. 

He had hardly touched the pillow before an idea 
struck him. He remembered a curious incident that he 
had read in one of Jean Paul’s stories ; and he felt certain 
that he had found what he wanted. He was so much 
pleased that he leaped from bed, and executed a fandango 
upon the floor with so much energy that Mrs. Megonegal 
sent a servant up to ascertain the cause of the disturbance, 
and to request ‘‘less noise.” Then Forbes turned in 
again with mingled feelings of joy and bliss. He felt a 
good deal mortified when he thought of that wretched 
adventure in the tree, and of the publicity that had been 
given to it. He experienced a kind of ferocious joy as he 
reflected upon the manner in which he would bring that 
wretch, Mr. Dulcitt, to grief. 

The next evening the grand concert was to come off. 
The Cecilians assembled early upon the platform, with 
music-books in their hands, eager to begin. Dulcitt 
strutted about, busily important, giving whispered direc- 

13 


194 HOW JACK FORBES WAS A VENGED. 


tions, arranging the singers, distributing music, and making 
his spectacled self very conspicuous. 

The hall was crammed absolutely full. The people 
occupied the very window-sills ; while certain small boys, 
filling the gallery, yelled at each other, and stamped in 
rhythm upon the floor. In the very front of the audience 
sat Mr. Forbes, where he could be seen by every singer 
upon the stage. He looked very grave, and in answer to 
numerous inquiries, he said that he felt rather unwell, and 
believed he would not sing this evening. Dulcitt con- 
gratulated himself in getting rid of a man who, as he said, 
“ made a noise like a rip-saw, when he tried to sing.” 

The first piece upon the programme was the Hallelujah 
Chorus. Mr. Dulcitt seized his baton, and ascended to 
the leader’s stand ; he tapped once or twice, and the very 
small band played a small overture in a very small sort 
of way. Then the chorus dashed into the magnificent 
music, singing it bravely, while Dulcitt, with his back to 
the audience, beat time with both arms and his head. 

When the chorus got fairly under way, Mr. Forbes 
dived into his overcoat pocket, and produced a huge 
lemon. Cutting the top off, he made motions to attract 
the attention of the singers, and having succeeded in 
getting some of them to look at him, he raised the lemon 
to his m.outh and began to suck it. The effect was in- 
stantaneous and marvellous. The mouths of those who 
saw him instantly filled with saliva, and as they made vain 
attempts to swallow, and to keep along with the music, a 
series of the most horrible discords was produced, so that 
Dulcitt grew frantic, and danced and beat more violently 
than ever. The strange interruption excited surprise in 


V 


HO W JA CK FORBES WAS A FENCED. 1 9 5 


the minds of those who had not seen Jack, and they lifted 
their eyes from the music to ascertain the cause. When 
they saw the lemon, the same result was produced ; and, 
in a minute, the whole chorus was upset, knocked out of 
tune and time, and at last brought to a stand still. 

The audience was amazed. Dulcitt, red in the face, 
turned around, and seeing Jack hard at work at his 
lemon, comprehended the situation in a moment. Re- 
covering himself, he determined to defy his enemy. 
Directing the singers not to look at Forbes, he began 
again. But it would not do. Every man and woman 
knew Jack’s lemon was there, and they all found it impos- 
sible to get rid of the thought or to stop the filling of their 
mouths. The flute-player found his instrument swamped ; 
the clarionet was water-logged ; the trombone dripped ; 
the hautbois and the cornet were filled with moisture. 
Three or four spurts were made by the orchestra, and a 
phrase or two was attempted by the chorus ; but the 
result was horrible. The audience hissed ; the young 
men on the front bench, seeing Jack’s manoeuvre, laughed j 
the boys in the gallery whistled like miniature locomo- 
tives. 

At last, beside himself with rage, Dulcitt leaped from 
the platform, and rushing up to Jack, struck him in the 
face with his baton. Mr. Forbes responded promptly 
with his fist, shattering Dulcitt’s spectacles to atoms. 
Then they grappled, and after rolling around among the 
benches on the dusty floor for some minutes, they were 
separated. Dulcitt, red and bleeding, shook his fist at 
J^ck, and, struggling with those who held him, said 
breathlessly : 



“ Dulcitt shook his fist at Jack .” — Page 195. 


HO W JA CK FORBES WAS A VENGED. 197 


“This is not the last of the quarrel. Pistols, you 
know— you’ve got to fight— to fight — death, you know — 
death — death — death!” yelled Dulcitt,as he was dragged 
away by his friends. 

Jack smiled contemptuously, but said nothing until 
Dulcitt had departed ; then, as the half-angry, half- 
amused audience slowly dispersed. Jack deigned to give 
some explanation of the difficulty. He had fairly turned 
the tables on his enemy : and disappointed though they 
were at the failure of the concert, the people laughed, and 
agreed to forgive him for the ingenuity of his revenge. 

Jenny Brown sat on the platform, cool, silent, and 
indifferent, until a strange young man, whom Jack had 
never seen, climbed up by her side and spoke to her. 
She coloured a little, seemed pleased, and finally rose up 
and went out with him. 

Jack marched home in triumph, worried about Jenny, 
and yet exultant over the success of his pleasant little 
scheme. 

His joy was short-lived.- Hardly had he reached the 
house, when a friend of Mr. Dulcitt’s called, and after 
explaining that he came upon a disagreeable errand, 
handed Forbes a note. It was a challenge from Dulcitt. 

“ Tell him,” said Jack, with an air of defiance, “that 1 
will meet him at seven to-morrow morning, in Duby’s 
Woods. Weapons, pistols ! ” 

Mr. Dulcitt’s second withdrew, and Jack went upstairs 
to bed. While he w’as undressing, he began to think 
about it. Was it worth while after all to fight that idiot 
for a girl ?— for a girl, too, who very likely cared nothing 
for Mr. Forbes, and who might only be flirting with 


198 ^Oiv JA CK FORBES WAS A VENGED. 


Dulcitt, to test Jack’s devotion to her? Pistols, too! it 
was deuced unpleasant : somebody might get hurt. 
Suppose he should put a ball through old Dulcitt, and be 
arrested and hung for murder ? Worse than that ; what 
if Dulcitt should blow Jack’s brains out on the spot! It 
wasn’t nice to consider such a probability. What good 
would any girl be to him if his brains were blown out ? 
Why, none at all. It was all confounded foolishness. 
Better remain a bachelor his whole life, than die like a 
dog at seven o’clock in the morning, by the hand of a 
weak-eyed singing-teacher. 

“ I’ll be hanged if I’ll do it,” said Jack, as he got into 
bed. “ I won’t go. I’ll pack up and leave town by the 
six o’clock train, and write a note saying that I had to go 
to the city on important business. I’d be a fool to fight 
such a fellow as Dulcitt, anyhow. I’m nbt going to make 
a target of myself for any man or woman either,” ejacu- 
lated Forbes, as he turned over and tried to goto sleep. 

But in vain. Haunted by thoughts of the duel, of the 
danger on one hand, and the disgrace on the other. Jack 
passed the night without a moment of repose. It was 
not pleasant to picture Dulcitt and his friends upon the 
ground, waiting for him with sanguinary impatience, until 
the hour passed, and then coming into town to post him 
as a coward. But Jack thought he would rather look 
upon this picture than upon that other, which showed his 
lifeless remains extended upon the ground, and soaked 
in gore. 

So at five o’clock he got up, dressed himself, crammed 
a few things in a satchel, and stole softly downstairs. 
When he flung open the hall-door, the street was so dark, 


HOJV JACK FORBES WAS A VENGED. 199 

and cold, and desolate, that Jack felt very forlorn and 
miserable, and was half inclined to stay at home and 
brave the shame that would be heaped upon him for his 
cowardice. After a moment’s hesitation, however, he 
closed the door gently, and crept down the street, with as 
much dread of being observed by the early risers, as if he 
were a criminal fleeing from justice. 

As he came near to the railroad station, the lights and 
the glow of the 
warm fire in 
the depot looked 
so cheerful and 
comfortable that 
Jack’s heart 
grewlighter,and 
he thought that 
upon the whole 
it was a good 
thing he had 
come. He walk- 
ed briskly upon 
the platform, opened the door of the waiting-room, and 
entered. 

There was one other passenger going by the early 
train ; he was sitting on the other side of the stove, with 
a carpet-bag by his side. His head was bowed down and 
rested upon his hands. His elbows were upon his knees. 
Jack got close to him before he looked up. 

It was Dulcitt, bent upon the same errand as Jack’s 
own. 

When Dulcitt saw Jack, he started to his feet, stepped 



200 HOW JACK FORBES WAS AVENGED. 


back a pace, and grew very red in the face. Jack also 
retreated and blushed. Dulcitt was the first to recover his 
presence of mind. He determined to make what profit 
he could from the situation. 

“ So, you scoundrel, you are trying to run away, are 
you?” he said to Jack. 

“No, I am not,” Jack replied — “no. I’m not. I heard 
that you were scared to death, you coward, and intended 
to bolt, and I came here to stop you.” 

“ That’s a lie ! ” exclaimed Dulcitt ; “ you never heard 
anything of the kind. I expected you would try to escape 
my vengeance, and so I determined to block your game.” 

“You didn’t, you blackguard,” replied Jack; “you 
were running away, for you’ve got your valise with you.” 

“ So have you got yours,” said Dulcitt. 

Jack coloured deeply, and looking at his carpet-bag, 
said in a hesitating voice : 

“ I — I — know — I — well, I’ve got my pistols in it.” 

“ All right, then,” said Dulcitt, fiercely, “ let’s go out- 
side and fight now.” 

Jack was stunned for a minute, and then he said : 

“No, I won’t, either ; if I do anything I’ll kick you, 
you miserable cur.” 

“Then you’re a mean, dastardly scoundrel,” yelled 
Dulcitt, in a frenzy, shaking his fist in Jack’s face. 

Before Jack had a chance to reply, the door of the 
room opened, and in walked Jenny Brown, accompanied 
by the strange young man who leaped upon the platform 
upon the evening of the concert. 

Forbes was bewildered. 

Dulcitt was stupefied. 


HOW JA CK FORBES WAS A VENGED. 201 


Jenny gave a little scream as she beheld her two 
victims, and very likely would have fainted but for the 
promptness of the strange young man, who put his arm 
around her instantly. When she had recovered, she 
looked at F orbes and Dulcitt for a few minutes, and then, 
comprehending the situation, burst into a fit of hearty 
laughter. The strange young man smiled, but the two 
duellists looked very glum and surly. 

At last Miss Jenny went up to them and said : 

“ Well, gentlemen, as there is no help for it, I must 
take you into my confidence and trust to you not to betray 
it. This is Mr. McFadden, the gentleman to whom' I am 
to be married this morning. I have been engaged to him 
for several months, and I regret to say I am obliged, after 
all, to marry him without the consent of my friends. 
May I hope that you will keep this matter secret for a 
time?” » 

“ Miss Brown, deeply as I regret to learn this from 
you, I can assure you that I shall regard your wish as an 
obligation,” said Dulcitt, bowing sadly. 

Jack Forbes gulped down a big sob, and then, with a 
faltering voice, said : 

I won’t tell either, but I don’t think this is exactly 
the right thing, and 1 don’t think you have treated me 
fairly. What did you lead me to believe that you loved 
me for, say ? ” 

Before Jenny could reply, Mr. McFadden stepped up 
and said : 

“ See here ! none of that, you know 1 If you talk in 
that manner to this young lady, you know. I’ll punch your 
head, you know I ” 


202 HO IV JACK FORBES WAS A VENGED. 


As Mr. McFadden appeared to be equal to the task of 
fulfilling his threat, Jack turned away in gloomy silence 
and went home again, and Dulcitt followed him. 

As they walked down the street, Jack halted until 
Dulcitt caught up to him, when he said : 

“ I say, Dulcitt, let’s make it up V’ 

“ All right,” said Dulcitt, extending his hand. 

Jack shook it heartily, and looking his late enemy in 
the eye, remarked : 

And I think, perhaps, it would be better if neither of 
uis said anything about this matter ? ” 

'“,1 think so, too,” observed Dulcitt, “ decidedly.” 

“ For to tell you the honest truth,” said Jack Forbes, 
“ she isn’t much of a girl anyhow, and I wouldn’t fight fo? 
her.” 




WITH 

AN APOLOGY FOR MOTHERS-IN-LAW 
GENERALLY. 

- — > 



mother - in - law 
has not had fair 
> play She suffers 
with the widow and: 
the old maid, but. 
she has been more, 
cruelly abused, 
more mercilessly ri- 
diculed than either. 
Like them, she is 
not responsible for 
her condition, but, 
unlike them, the 
man who complains the most about her is he who 
elevated her to the position she holds — namely, the man 
who married her daughter. 

She has been the subject of countless brutal stories, 


204 JEROME PINNICKSON^S MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


myriads of offensive jests, and quantities of sarcastic 
rhymes. Into all of these has entered an element of 
bitterness which does not appear in the jibes that are 
hurled at the widow and the spinster. 

Malice is the inspiration of the assaults upon the 
mother-in-law. Perhaps it is savagery born of a sense of 
detected guilt — guilt which has been hidden from the too 
confiding wife, but detected promptly by the penetrating 
eye of the mother-in-law. She is not blinded by love for 
the man ; she is made vigilant by love for the wife, and 
to perfect clearness of vision she adds that large and 
generous experience of the methods of devious and de- 
ceitful husbands, which enables her at once to laugh to 
scorn the hypocrisy which attempts to excuse late hours 
upon the plea of business, or to offer the claims of the 
lodge in explanation of absent evenings that are spent in 
conviviality. 

For men who are guilty of such crimes, the mother-in- 
law operates as a kind of second conscience. She is an 
agent of the moral law to convey reproof ; perhaps to 
execute vengeance. In such a character she deserves 
respect. The sinner who quails beneath her majestic 
glance of course does not like her. Neither does the 
thief like the halter. But for the part she plays in the 
economy of the universe she is entitled to the reverence 
of the good. 

There are diversities of mothers-in-law, as of all other 
things ; and it does happen sometimes that a worthy and 
well-conducted man finds himself subjected to a mother- 
in-law who is a real affliction. But all things are wisely 
ordered in this world. All the saints have been made 


JEROME PINNICKSON^S MOTHER-IN-LAW. 205 


perfect through suffering. The thorn in the flesh some- 
times points the way to celestial joys. A terrific mother- 
in-law may be good for discipline. She should be regarded 
very much as an ascetic regards a hair-cloth shirt ; as 
something which subdues the body with the intent to 
purify the spirit. She is hard to bear, of course, but so 
are all the trials of life ; and yet if life had no trials no- 
body would ever want to get to heaven. 

There may be men who, when they join the church 
triumphant, will be largely indebted for their felicity to a 
fearful mother-in-law. Let them submit themselves to 
her now, with cheerful resignation, looking upon her as a 
possible conducer to a blissful hereafter. 

It is worthy of notice that the mother-in-law is never 
spoken of with disrespect in the Bible. Ruth, the most 
charming woman in the Old Testament history, obtained 
a husband and ^n immortality of admiration because she 
loved her mother-in-law and treated her kindly. One of 
the signs of the troublous times that are to come upon the 
earth will be that the daughter-in-law will be against her 
mother-in law. Possibly we may attribute the fall of man 
to the fact that Adam had no mother-in-law to look after 
him and his wife and to warn them, as the efficient 
mother-in-law always will, against doing wrong. Solo- 
mon was the wisest man that ever lived, and he had seven 
hundred mothers-in-law, unless some of his wives were 
orphans, and there is not a reproachful word concerning 
them in any of his writings. The modern man who has 
but one, and who growls about her, ought to consider this 
and refrain. 

The chances are that most of the men who make com- 


2o6 JEROME PINNICKSON'S MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


plaint are in fact under serious obligations to the women 
whom they dislike. A good mother-in law in a house is 
really a well-spring of pleasure to a properly constituted 
husband. She is assiduous in taking care of the baby, 
and the serviceableness of her knowledge concerning the 
most effective methods of carrying the infant through 
criticial periods, the efficiency with which she dispenses 

paregoric, measures out ipe- 
cac, and compounds spice- 
plaisters, fills the minds of 
just men with sentiments of 
admiration and thankfulness. 

The average mother-in- 
law is an over-match for the 
wiliest hired girl of the 
period. She knows all about 
the proportion of soap to the 
week^s washing, and she has 
some occult power which 
enables her to detect an un- 
naturally low tide in the 
sugar bucket. In a sick 
room she is a ministering 
angel, and when the agonies 
of house-cleaning attack the dwelling she is worth as 
much as two servant girls and a coloured man. 

It is the fate of her sex to be misrepresented. It is a 
part of the cruel law which maintains the subjection of 
woman that the mother-in law should be vilified con- 
tinually. But she suffers and is strong. Who ever heard 
of a mother-in-law rushing into print with abuse of her 



JEROME PINNICKSON'S MOTHER-IN-LAW, 207 


ion-in-law ? And if mothers-in-law should retaliate how 
mightily could they prevail ! If every mother-in-law 
should relieve her mind by telling what she knows of her 
persecutor, probably many men of fair reputation would 
have to take much lower seats in the social synagogue 
than those that they occupy at present. 

Jerome Pinnickson had a mother-in-law who was filled 
with deep anxiety to escape the reproach that attaches to 
the women of her class as a rule. 

As soon as her daughter was married to Pinnickson, 
and it was arranged that Mrs. Carboy — Mrs. Pinnickson’s 
mother — was to come to live with her child, Mrs. Carboy 
said : 

“Helen, dear! I am very desirous that J erome shall 
not regard me as most men regard their wives’ mothers, 
and I am determined to try very hard to make myself 
agreeable and to do what I can to make Jerome love me.” 

“ I know he will, mother.” 

“ I hope so, Helen. Most mothers-in-law are so soli- 
citous for their daughters’ welfare that they forget the 
rights of the husbands, and the result too often is that 
they come between husband and wife and cause trouble 
and dissension.” 

“ But you won’t do that, I am certain.” 

“ No, Helen, I trust not. I have made up my mind to 
devote more attention to Jerome than to you ; to show 
myself eager to make his home happy, to anticipate every 
want, and to pay him those little attentions for which men 
are always so grateful. Ah ! my dear, your poor pa used 
to say that I was the most thoughtful woman he ever 
saw ; and I did try to be very considerate.” 


2o8 JEROME PINNICKSON^S MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


“Jerome will say the same thing, mother, I am sure.” 

And so, upon the first night that Pinnickson went 
out, as he alleged, “ upon business,” Mrs. Carboy said to 
her daughter : 

Helen, darling, suppose you go to bed. I will sit up 
and wait for Jerome. I am accustomed to it. A man 
does not like to come home late at night and find the 
house dark and dreary and every one asleep. We must 
try to make it cheerful for Jerome. I will sit here and 
be ready to greet him with a smile when he comes in.” 

So Mrs. Pinnickson retired, and Mrs. Carboy went on 
with her sewing. 

“ Dear Jerome,” she said to herself, as she bit off a 
thread, “ how pleased he will be to find that I am so eager 
to make him happy ! ” 

Mrs. Carboy sat there, hour after hour, until at last 
she dozed off in her chair. Just as the clock upon the 
mantel was striking one, the noise of a key in the lock of 
the front door waked her, and Jerome came in. She 
sprang to greet him. He seemed a trifle vexed when he 
saw her, but when she explained her project to him, he 
thanked her kindly and bade her good night. 

If some one could have caught the remark that fell 
from his lips as he went up-stairs, he would have been un- 
derstood to say ; 

“ Detestable old idiot ! I believe she sat up because 
she was afraid I would not come home sober! She has 
begun to watch me already.” 

But Mrs. Carboy went to bed with an approving con- 
science, and perfectly happy in the thought that she was 
a kind of guardian angel to that household. 


JEROME PINNICKSON'S MOTHER-IN-LAW. 209 


The next time Pinnickson went out alone in the even- 
ing he said, as he took his hat : 

By the way, mother, you needn’t sit up for me to- 
night. I shall be detained rather late.” 

“ Dear heart,” said Mrs. Carboy to Helen, as the door 
closed,' “ he doesn’t want to give me trouble. But I will 
show him that my affection for him makes such a service 
seem trifling. You can retire as usual, darling, and I will 
wait for him.” 

Jero;ne was later than usual. He came in a little 
before two ; and Mrs. Carboy flew to meet him. He was 
a shade angry, and he said : 

“ I thought I asked you not to wait up for me 

“ I know, my son ; but I felt as if I were willing to 
sacrifice myself for your eomfort in spite of your kind 
protest.” 

Then Pinnickson slammed his hat down upon the 
table, tossed his cane on the stand, and went off 
saying : 

•“ I wonder what game the old girl is up to, anyway ? 
She evidently suspects something.” 

When Pinnickson had occasion to stay out the next 
time, he remarked : “ I shall be out very, very late. Per- 
haps I shall not come in at all. I particularly request 
that you and mother shall both go to bed at the usual 
time. Remember, now, I do not want either of you 
to sit up.” ' 

“ How considerate he is,” said Mrs. Carboy, as Jerome 
shut the door. “ He would suffer anything rather than 
cause me trouble. But little does he know the depths 
of a woman’s love. You retire, Helen, when you 

14 


•210 JEROME PINNICKSON^S MOTHER-IN-LAW, 


wish to, and I will stay up and give him a pleasant 
surprise.” 

Late that night Pinnickson opened the front door 



“ He beheld Mrs. Carboy dozing in the easy-chair.”— 210. 

cended the stairs, and then he went to bed, leaving her 
undisturbed. 


About four o clock in the morning some one pounded 
upon his chamber door. 



JEROME PINNICKSON^S MOTHER-IN-LAW, 211 


“ Who’s there ? ” asked Mrs. Pinnickson. 

“ I ! your mamma. Do you know, Helen, darling, 
that Jerome has not come home yet.? I am afraid 
something dreadful has happened to him.” 

Pinnickson was sleepy, but he could not suppress a 
smile as his wife arose and went to explain to her mother 
the facts of the situation. 

In the morning, Pinnickson tried to smooth matters 
over by a shuffling excuse, to the effect that he did not 
look for Mrs. Carboy, after what he had said about not 
sitting up, and he was not aware that she was waiting 
for him. 

“Never mind,” said she, with a serene smile, “it 
makes no difference. Next time I will stay awake, so 
that I won’t miss you.” 

Pinnickson looked as if this information did not fill 
him with joy. In fact, it made him miserable. The 
thought that he would never, never be able to go out 
without the certainty that the implacable and indo- 
mitable Mrs. Carboy was at home counting the minutes 
of his absence, was exasperating. The most fiendish of 
mothers-in-law could not have devised anything that 
would have been more terrible. 

And Mrs. Carboy did not end with this method of 
torture, in her efforts to make her son-in-law happy. 

“ Helen,” she said, “Jerome loves neatness and order, 
and I think we ought to have a good house-cleaning 
every month or two, just to please him. Nothing, my 
child, makes a man so contented and happy as to find his 
home a model of cleanliness and comfort.” 

And so Mrs. Carboy and Helen began the good work, 


212 JEROME PINNICKSON'S MOTHER-IA-l^AW, 


and when Jerome came home he found the ironing-blanket 
over the piano, the carpet up from the hall, the chairs on 
top of the sofas, the hat-rack in the back porch, his coats 
and boots stuffed away in a strange closet, and the house- 
hold things generally in a pitiable condition of demorali- 
zation. He complained to his wife, and she said : 

“ Mother wanted to do it. She says we ought to have 
a good house-cleaning every month or two, so as to make 
home happy and comfortable for you.” 

‘•'She said that, did she? Your mother said that! 
Helen, tell your mother that the next time I come home 
and find such happiness as this, either she or I will have 
to seek for happiness elsewhere.” 

Then Mrs. Pinnickson began to cry, and when she 
sought her mother, to cast on her the burden of her woe, 
Mrs. Carboy said : 

“ Don’t mind it, darling ! Jerome is not well. I have 
long thought that his liver was disordered. Perhaps he 
will feel better in the morning. If he does, we will go 
ahead and tear out the second-floor rooms. I will clean 
up the library myself, and put his papers away.” 

And she did. She arranged the papers on Pinnickson’s 
* desk, and “ straightened up ” everything that was crooked 
or out of place ; and when the shades of evening fell, she 
said : 

“ Helen, dear, Jerome will be delighted with the library. 
I wish you would tell him I fixed it. It will make him 
feel more kindly towards me, perhaps. Don’t say any- 
thing about it until he sees it. We will give him surprise.” 

After dinner, Pinnickson went into the library to write 
a letter, when the women waited to observe the effect of 


JEROME PINNICKSON^S MOTHER-IN-LAW. 213 


the surprise. They heard him using some expressions 
that seemed to be violent in tone, and presently he opened 
the door and called, 

“ Helen ! Helen ! ” 

Mrs. Pinnickson went to see what he wanted. 

“ Helen,” he said, “ I want to know who on earth 
has been'in here meddling with my papers ? ” 

“Why, Jerome, I thought — ” 

“Oh, never mind what you thought. Helen, don’t 
you know' that I cannot endure that any one should dis- 
turb these papers? I have said, over and over again 
that they were to be let alone.” 

“ I know, my dear ; but then, arranging them just a 
little would not hurt them ; and — ” 

“ Arranging them ! Why, they are turned topsy-turvey 
— not one is where it ought to be. It will take me hours 
to find what I want.” 

“ I am very sorry. I — ” 

“ But why did you do it ? What possible reason had 
you for disturbing them ? ” 

“ Why, you know, Jerome, I didn’t do it myself.” 

“You didn’t do it! What other person had the im- 
pudence to interfere with my private papers ! ” 

“ Well, you see, mother said that you — ” 

“ Your mother I Is this the work of your mother ?” 

“ Yes ; mother said — ” 

But before Mrs. Pinnickson could finish the sentence, 
Pinnickson rushed from the room, grasped his hat, crushed 
it down on his head, and flew from the house. 

“ I am afraid,” said Mrs. Pinnickson, after telling her 
mother of the interview, “ that he is very angry.” 


214 JEROME PINNICKSON'S MOTHER- IN- 1 A IV. 


“ Not a great deal, I think, darling,” said Mrs. Carboy. 

It will pass off. I will sit up for him as usual to-night, 
and when he comes in I will explain it all to him, so that 
he will be satisfied.” 

Mrs. Carboy waited patiently that night, thinking of 
what she would say, when Jerome came home, to assuage 
his wrath and make him feel that he had indeed a mother- 
in-law who loved him. 

After a while he entered. Mrs. Carboy met him with 
a charming smile. She was just about to open, a conver- 
sation, when he dashed past her, ascended the stairs three 
steps at a time, entered his chamber, and locked the door. 

“Jerome has some business trouble on his mind, dear 
boy,” whisp>ered Mrs. Carboy to herself, as she went to bed. 

“ I will have that intolerable old hag assassinated, if 
there is no other way of getting rid of her, * said Pinnick- 
son to himself, as- he prepared to undress. 

When the family assembled at breakfast next morning, 
Pinnickson was gloomy, and sad, and silent. Mrs. Pin- 
nickson said, timidly — 

“ Are you not well, Jerome, dear ? ” 

“ Perfectly ! perfectly well ! What do you ask that 
question for ? ” 

“ I thought you seemed somewhat indisposed.” 

“ I thought so, too,” said Mrs. Carboy, with a sym- 
pathizing smile. 

“ Well, I’m not,” grumbled Pinnickson. 

“ Doesn’t your head ache?” asked Mrs. Pinnickson. 

“ Certainly it don’t.” 

“ Haven’t you a pain in your chest ? ” asked Mrs. Car- 
boy. “ I thought I heard you coughing during the night.” 


JER OME riNNICKSON^ S MO THE R- IN- LAW. 215 


“ No, you (didn’t.” 

“Hadn’t you better take something for it, dear?” 
urged Mrs. Pinnickson. 

“ Something for what ? ” 

“ F or your cough.” 

“No, Helen,” said Mrs. Carboy; “what Jerome 
wants is a mustard plaster. Jerome, may I make one for 
you ? ” 

Jerome did not reply. He rose slowly from the table, 
and with a look of intense disgust upon his face he left 
the room and then the house. 

“Helen,” said Mrs. Carboy, when he had gone, 
“Jerome is suffering, but he has determined to say 
nothing, for fear of worrying you. Dear soul ! always so 
thoughtful and considerate ! But we must do something 
to help him. I always put mustard plasters on your pa 
when he had a pain in his chest.” 

“ But Jerome will not let me put one on him.” 

“ Then, my child, you have a duty to perform. If he 
will not admit that he is ill, prove to him that you are 
more careful of him than he is of himself, compel him to 
assume the plaster. He will love you more dearly for 
your solicitude for his welfare.” 

“ How can I compel him to wear it ? ” 

“ Mix a dry mustard plaster, and sew it upon the 
inside of his underclothing, after he’s asleep to-night. He 
will never know it until it has had a good effect. 

“ I will try the experiment,” said Mrs. Pinnickson. 

Upon the following morning, Pinnickson came into 
the dining-room in a fine humour. He took his seat, and 
was just in the midst of an explanation of a transaction 


2i6 JEROME PINNICKSON^S MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


he had the day before with a business friend, when he 
suddenly stopped, looked cross-eyed, and a spasm of pain 
passed over his face. He exclaimed 

wonder what in the — No, it can’t be anything 
wrong.” 

“ What is the matter, dear ? ” asked Mrs. Pinnickson. 

I don’t know. I felt a kind of pain in my chest ; very 
queer too. Sort of stings me.” 

“ I knew you were not well,’’ rejoined Mrs. Carboy. 

I am sorry,” said Mrs. Pinnickson. 

Then Pinnickson began again, and he was just telling 
how his friend, Jones, had met him at a chop-house, and 
prevailed upon him to go into a speculation with Gagbury 
and Pittston Railway Stock, when he suddenly dropped 
the subject, and, jumping up, said 

“ Goodness ! Halloa t What’s that ? Helen, some- 
thing dreadful is the matter! I feel as if I had a 
shovelful of hot coals upon my chest. ” 

“ Must be the rheumatism getting worse,” said Mrs. 
Pinnickson. 

“ Oh no ! It’s something a great deal worse than 
rheumatism,” said Pinnickson. “ Feels like a fire burning 
into my flesh. Ouch I Ow-wow-wow ! It is fearful ! I 
can’t stand it another moment ! I believe it is cholera, 
or something, and that I am going to die.” 

“Do try to be calm, my son 1 ” said Mrs. Carboy. 

“Calm! how can a man be calm with a volcano 
boiling over upon him. Get out of the way, quick ! while 
I go upstairs and undress ! ” 

Then he rushed upstairs and removed his clothing. 
His chest was the colour of a boiled lobster; but he 



1 How can a man be calm ’ i 216. 


iwirmiltiyj?rg?g»g>" 







2i8 JEROME PmnCKSON^S MOTHER-IN-LAfy. 


(Could not imagine what the cause of the inflammation 
'Could be, when his eyes rested upon something white upon 
Ihis shirt. He picked up the garment and examined it 
Five minutes later he came slowly downstairs with 
thunder upon his brow and a dry mustard plaster in his 
hand. His wife met him in the hall. Going up to her, 
he shook the plaster before her face, and said in a sup- 
pressed voice : — - 

“ Did you put that thing upon me ? ” 

“ I did it for the best, Jerome. I wanted to make you 
well, and — ” 

Well ! well ! and who said I was sick ? ” 

“ Why, dear, you know mother thought — ” 

‘‘ Your mother ! Did your mother put you up to 
plastering me with this diabolical contrivance which has 
nearly eaten me to the bone ! ” 

“ She merely suggested — ” 

“ Suggested it, did she ! Well, now, listen to me If 
Mrs. Carboy ever suggests, or thinks, or does, or dreams 
any more of meddling with me, I register a solemn vow 
that I will put her out of this house, bag and baggage, 
finally and for ever, as soon as I can lay my hands on 
her. You hear me!” 

Then Pinnickson rushed out, and slammed the door 
fiercely, while Mrs. Pinnickson sat down on the lowest 
stair, and burst into tears. 

“ Never mind, Helen,” said Mrs. Carboy, who had 
been listening behind the door of the dining-room ; “ he 
will feel better before evening, and then he will be grateful 
for what you did.” 

Pinnickson did not manifest any gratitude, but as the 


JEROME PINNICKSON^S MOTHER-IN-LAW. 219 


inflammation upon his chest passed away, his temper 
improved, and he became comparatively cheerful and 
agreeable, even to Mrs. Carboy, for whom, however, deep 
down in his bosom, he cherished a feeling of resentment. 

A few weeks later, Pinnickson, while sitting with his 
wife and Mrs. Carboy, one evening, said : 

“ My dear, you seem to have given up your piano 
practice completely. I never hear you playing any now.” 

“ It is true, Jerome ; I hardly ever touch the instrument. 
I am busy all day with the household affairs, and I seem 
to have no time for practice.” 

“Poor Helen is very industrious,” observed Mrs. Carboy. 

“ But I don’t want you to keep the piano always closed,” 
said Pinnickson. “You know how. fond I am of a little 
music.” 

“ Well, I really must try to pick up my playing again to 
please you. But I do not know how I can find the time.” 

“ You must make the effort, dear,” said Mrs. Carboy, 
“in order to oblige your husband. I do wish I could 
help you in some way. I can’t play, but I can sing a 
little. Perhaps Jerome would like to hear me sing to 
him in the evening ? ” 

Pinnickson did not express himself frankly on this 
^oint; but he threw out a strong intimation that he 
yvould choose almost any other fate than that. 

Next morning, when Mrs. Carboy was alone with hei: 
(Jaughter, she said ; 

“ My child, a happy thought occurred to me last night 
after I had retired. Jerome loves music, and you cannot 
give it to him. Why not buy him a musical-box, whicl? 
will play without an effort from anybody t ” 


2 20 JEROME FINNICKSON'S MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


“ That would be splendid, mamma,” said Mrs. Pin- 
nickson. 

“ I will buy one this very day,” added Mrs. Carboy. 
“ I would rather spend all I have, than let Jerome think I 
do not want to make him happy.” 

When Pinnickson went into his drawing-room after 
dinner that evening, a charming musical-box was upon 
the table, playing beautifully. Pinnickson was delighted ; 
and when his wife said that it was a present from Mrs. 
Carboy, he thanked that lady warmly, and really for a 
moment felt his heart soften toward her. 

He listened to the music for some time with pleasure. 
The box played four tunes. He heard them each five or 
six times, and then he said : 

“ I guess that is enough for to-night, mother. How do 
you stop it t ” 

Mrs. Carboy said she thought she could show him. 
But when she had fumbled about the box in a feebly un- 
certain manner for five or ten minutes, she confessed she 
did not know how. Pinnickson tried his hand, but with no 
other result than to accelerate the motion of the cylinder. 

“ Oh, never mind ! ” he said, at last. “ Let it play. 
We will have music all the evening.” 

So he sat down, and began to read. The musical-box 
produced its four tunes in rapid succession. Pinnickson 
found his mind following them so that he could not fix his 
attention upon his book. When an hour or two had 
elapsed, the performance began to grow monotonous ; then 
it irritated him. Finally, he made another effort to stop 
the machine, but without success. This failure exasperated 
him. He felt that he could not endure those four dread- 


JEROME PINNICKSON^S MOTHER-IN-LAW. 221 


ful tunes much longer, and he said so, glancing meanwhile 
at poor Mrs. Carboy, who sat over by the fire, the picture 
of distress. 

At. last Pinnickson said he should go to bed in pre- 
ference to going mad over the jangling and twanging of 
that fiendish contrivance upon the mantel. So the whole 
family retired, and when Pinnickson got fairly settled in 
bed^ he was indignant to discover that he could still hear, 
aniid the silence of the house, those four maddening tunes 
reeling off in quick succession. He was furious, and as 
his anger kept him awake, he got to brooding over his 
wrongs, and thinking how beautiful is that social system 
in the Cannibal Islands, which compels a man to put his 
mother-in-law to death immediately after the marriage 
ceremony. 

And the musical-box ground out its quartette of melo- 
dies with almost malignant persistency. 

On towards morning, Pinnickson could endure it no 
longer. He leaped from bed, ran down-stairs, seized the 
box and flung it from the window into the yard. He heard 
it smash, and he gloated over the thought that its musical 
performances were ended. But they were not. The 
machinery was disarranged, and all night long it gave 
queer spurts in which fragments of “Rule Britannia” 
were oddly entangled with bits of “ Hear me, Norma;” 
and odds and ends of “Robin Adair” came booming out 
in the most astonishing connection, with suggestions of 
“Oft in the Stilly Night.” And amid the fits and starts 
of the dislocated music, Pinnickson dozed away into an 
uneasy slumber, in which he dreamed that Mrs. Carboy 
was hovering over him trying to play “ Robin Adair ” on 


222 JEROME PINNICKSON'S MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


the bass drum, while Helen produced the most hideous 
noises from a trombone twelve hundred feet long. 

The memory of the grave wrong that Mrs. Carboy had 
done him by means of the musical-box lingered long in 
Pinnickson’s mind, and he sometimes felt that he hated 
her. But for his wife’s sake he suppressed his feelings 
and tried to treat her in a kindly way. 

Pinnickson’s half-bro- 
ther, a widower, much 
older than he, had been 
taking Mrs. Carboy out a 
good deal in the even- 
ings, and Pinnickson’s 
heart warmed towards his 
relative as he realized the 
blessedness of the relief 
thus afforded. 

One evening, Mrs. Pinnickson said to him : 

“Jerome, I have some news for you.” 

“What is it.?” 

“ You know mamma ? ” 

“Well?” 

“Well, she is engaged to be married.” 

Pinnickson’s heart leaped within him. 

“ Engaged to be married ? To whom ?” , . 

“Your half-brother — John Barnby.” 

Pinnickson wanted to hurrah, but considerations of 
propriety restrained him ; so, after a pleasant remark or 
two upon the subject, he went out upon the porch, and 
gave expression to his feelings of exultation by various 
wild and foolish gestures accompanied By quiet laughter. 



JEROME PINNICKSON^S MOTHER-IN-LAW. 223 


When he returned to the house his wife thought she 
had never seen him in such excellent spirits. 

A few months later the wedding occurred, and Mrs. 
Carboy (Mrs. Barnby) went to her new home. That 
evening, as Pinnickson sat in his parlour with his 
wife, he felt that his real matrimonial existence had 
just begun. His mother-in-law had ceased troubling 
him for ever. 

“Jerome, dear,” said his wife, “I’ve been trying to 
think what relation mamma is to you now.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Why, it’s dreadfully mixed up. I can t for the life of 
me tell exactly how she is related to you.” 

“ I never thought much about it” 

“Well, now; let’s see. Your father was my father’s 
half-brother, wasn’t he ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Then my mother is your half-aunt, as well as your 
mother.” 

“ I s’pose so.” 

“And now she has married your half-brother, who is the 
son of your mother’s first husband, and not of your father.” 

“ Wait a minute. How was that ?” “ 

“Why, I say that mamma’s second husband is the 
son of your mother’s first husband ; while mamma’s 
first husband was your father’s half-brother. Isn’t that 
right } ” 

“ I s’pose it is. It is somehow that way.” 

“ Very well, then ; mamma is your mother’s daughter 
now, and consequently your sister ; and yet, how can 
your sister be your aunt ? ” 


224 JEROME PINNICKSON^S MOTHER-IN-LAW, 


“ My aunt ! My sister be my aunt ! Hanged if 1 
know ” 

“Don’t . you see, my first papa was really your half- 
uncle ; while my second father is my half-brother ; so that 

— that Well, don’t it seem to you that I am somehow 

mamma’s half-sister as well as her daughter ? ” 

“ Well, Helen, to tell the truth, I don’t follow you 
exactly. I have a hazy idea, from what you say, that your 
mother occupies toward me all the female relationships 
from grandmother down ; but precisely where she stands 
is the problem that I can’t grasp.” 

“ It isn’t clear to me either. But let’s go over it again. 
Your father was my father’s half-brother, wasn’t he 

“ Certainly.” 

“ Well ; my father’s wife was my mother, wasn’t she ? ” 

“ How was that ? Say that again.” 

“Why, my father’s wife was my mother, and your 
half-aunt ; and now, that my mother is your sister — ” 

“Yes, my sister.” 

“Your sister; my mother is your mother’s daughter, 
and consequently, being also my aunt and your mother- 
in-law — and — and — let me see, where was I ? ” 

“My mother-in-law ! ” 

“ Yes, your mother in-law. What I wan’t to know is, 
how, being my mother and your half-aunt, and having 
married your half-brother, the son of another half-brother, 
she could — ” 

“ Helen !” said Pinnickson, with a stern voice, “stop 
right here ! We will pursue this investigation no fur- 
ther. We will drop the subject. You will oblige me by 
never referring to it again in my presence ! 


JEROME PINNICKSON'S MOTHER-IN-LAW. 225 


“ Helen, I do not wish to wound your feelings ; but ever 
since our marriage I have been kept in a continual con- 
dition of exasperation by your mother. Unintentionally, 
perhaps, she has irritated me almost beyond endurance. 
I have suffered and been strong for your sake, because I 
loved you. You do not know what I have endured. 
When your mother left this house, a burden was lifted 



from my soul ; I felt once more that I could be happy. In 
the midst of my joy, you force upon me this frightful con- 
undrum about half-aunts and grandmothers, and so on. 
Considerations of that matter, I feel, will finally dethrone 
my reason. Your mother, fleeing, has left behind her a 
legacy of woe. I refuse to accept it. I shall have nothing 
to do with it. I do not care what relation she is to you, 
or to me, or to anybody. It is enough for me that she has 
gone. Let her go. Do not stir her up. Do not agitate 

15 


226 JEROME PINNICKSON^S MOTHER-IN-LAW. 

her. Let us have permanent repose. I have freed my 
mind. We will now drop the subject for ever ! ” 

And so Jerome Pinnickson’s mother-in-law drifted 
away from that household as a cloud floats from the land- 
scape from which it has kept the sunlight ; and so, in 
fine, Pinnickson had peace. 

/ 



r 


f 



•h. 





HERE the Profes- 
sor came from 
originally, or how 
he even obtained 
the title of “ Pro- 
fessor,” nobody 
knew. He ap- 
peared suddenly 
in the village one 
day, and renting 
a small shop, he 
hung out a sign 
bearing the inscription, “ Professor S. Quackenboss, Phre-^ 
nologist and Indian Herb Doctor,” and sat down to wait 
for business that never came. 

A week or two after his arrival, he determiited to give 
a free lecture upon phrenology, for the purpose of intro- 
ducing himself to the people of the community. He 


228 


PROFESSOR Q UA CKENB OSS. 


rented a hall, and obtained quite a large audience. When 
the hour for beginning the lecture arrived, the Professo’* 
advanced and explained the science, and then invited 
persons in the audience to come forward and permit him 
to examine their skulls, and tell what were their charac- 
teristics. Several men offered themselves for this ordeal, 
and the Professor contrived to come so near to the truth 
in describing them, that he more than once excited a good 
deal of applause. 

Finally, old Mr. Duncan stepped up for examination. 
He is an absent-minded man, and he wears a wig. While 
dressing himself before coming to the lecture, , he had 
placed his wig on the bureau and accidentally tossed his 
spectacle case into it. When he put the wig on it was 
just like him not to notice the case, and so, when he 
mounted the platform, he had a huge lump just over his 
bump of combativeness. The Professor fingered about a 
while over Mr. Duncan’s head, and then said — 

“We have here a somewhat remarkable skull. The 
perceptive faculties strongly developed ; reflective facul- 
ties quite good ; ideality large ; reverence so great as to 
be unusual ; and benevolence very prominent Secretive- 
ness is small, and the subject, therefore, is a man of ^ 
candour and frankness ; he communicates what he knows 
freely. We have also,” said the Professor, still ploughing 
his fingers through D.’s hair, “acquisitiveness not large ; — 
the subject is not a grasping, avaricious man, he gives 

liberally, he — he— he . Why, it can’t be ! Yes. Why, 

what in the — ! Munificent Moses ! that’s the most awful 
development of combativeness I ever heard of ! Are yoq 
a prize fighter, eh ?” 






2 ^ 


PROFESSOR QVACKENBOSS. 


“ Prize-fighter !” exclaimed Mr. D. “ Why, what do 
you mean ? ’ 

“ Never been a soldier, or a pirate, or anything like 
that ? ” 

“ You certainly must be crazy.” 

“ Ain’t you fond of going into scrimmages and rows 
and hammering people ? ” 

“ Certainly not.” 

“ Well, sir, then you’re untrue to your nature. The 
way your head’s built qualifies you, I should say, in a 
special manner as a pugilist or a soldier. If you want to 
fulfil your mission, you will devote the remainder of your 
life to battering up your fellow-man and keeping yourself 
in one interminable war. You’ve got the most fearful 
fighting bump that ever decorated a human skull. It’s 
phenomenal. What’ll you take for your head when you 
die? Gentlemen, this man is liable at any moment to 
commence raging around the community like a wild cat, 
banging you with a club or anything that comes handy. 
It isn’t safe for him to be at large.” 

Then Mr. Duncan put up his hand for the purpose of 
feeling the bump, and he found the spectacle case. He 
removed his wig, and there was the case resting upon his 
left ear. Then the Professor, looking at it for a moment 
in confusion, said — 

“ Ladies and gentlemen, we will now — the lecture is — 
that is, I have no more — boy, put out those lights.” 

And Mr. Duncan replaced his wig, the Professor dis- 
appeared, and the audience laughingly dispersed. 

After that the Professor did not dabble a great deal in 
phrenology. He remained idly in his office during part 


PROFESSOR Q UA CKENBOSS, 


231 


of each day, but as he was fond of conversation, and 
rather unduly partial to stimulating beverages when they 
could be obtained at the expense of other people, he used 
to spend most of his time either at the tavern or at the 
corner grocery, where he could give his ingenious views 
of things generous expression to a crowd of amused 
listeners. 

One evening the Indian question came on for discus- 
sion at the grocery, where some of the leading men of the 
village had dropped in, for it was the post-office also ; and 
when two or three persons had expressed their opinions,*^ 
the Professor removed his pipe from his mouth, and 
placing his feet upon the stove, while he tilted back his 
chair, said : 

“ I don’t take the same view of the North American 
Indians that most people do. 

“Now some think that the red man displays a want of 
good taste in declining to bathe himself; but I don’t. 
What is dirt .f* It is simply — matter ; — the same kind of 
matter that exists everywhere. The earth is made of dirt ; 
the things we eat are dirt, and they grow in the dirt ; and 
when we die and are buried we return again to the dirt 
from which we were made. Science says that all dirt is 
clean. The savage Indian knows this ; his original mind 
grasps this idea ; he has his eagle eye on science, and he 
has no soap. Dirt is warm. A layer one-sixteenth of an 
inch thick on a man is said by Professor Huxley to be as 
comfortable as a fifty- dollar suit of clothes. Why, then, 
should the child of the forest undress himself once a week 
by scraping this off, and expose himself to the rude blasts 
of winter? He has too much sense. His head is too 


PROFE^iSOR QUACKENBOSS. 


232 


level to let him take a square wash more than once in 
every twenty years, and even then he don’t rub hard. 

“ And then, in regard to his practice of eating dogs ; 
why shouldn’t a man eat a dog t A dog sometimes eats 
a man, and turn about is fair play. A well-digested dog 
stowed away inside of a Choctaw squaw, does more to 
advance civilization and the Christian religion than a dog 
that barks all night in a back yard, don’t it 1 And nothing 
is more nutritious than dog. Professor Huxley says that 
one pound of a dog’s hind leg nourishes the vital forces 
more than a waggon-load of bread and corned beef. It 
contains more phosphorus and carbon. When dogs are 
alive they agree with men, and there is no reason why they 
shouldn’t when they are dead. This nation will enter upon 
a glorious destiny when it stops raising corn and potatoes, 
and devotes itself more to growing crops of puppies. 

“Now, many ignorant people consider scalping in- 
human. 1 don’t. I look upon it as one of the most bene- 
ficent processes ever introduced for the amelioration of 
the sufferings of the race. What is hair .? It is an excre- 
scence. If it grows, it costs a man a great deal of money 
and trouble to keep it cut. If it falls out, the man becomes 
bald and the flies bother him. What does the Indian do 
in this emergency ? With characteristic sagacity he lifts 
out the whole scalp and ends the annoyance and expense. 
And then look at the saving from other sources. Pro- 
fessor Huxley estimates that 2,000 pounds of the food 
that a man eats in a year go to nourish his hair. Remove 
that hair and you save that much food. If I had my way 
I would have every baby scalped when it is vaccinated, as 
a measure of political economy. That would be states- 


233 


PROFESSOR QUACKENBOSS. 


manship. I have a notion to organize a political party 
on the basis of baby-scalping, and to go on the stump to 
advocate it. If people had any sense, I might run into 
the Presidency as a baby- scalper. 

“And as for the matter of the Indians wearing 
rings through their noses, I don’t see why people com- 
plain of that. Look at the advantage it gives a man when 
he wants to hold 
on. to anything. 

If a hurricane 
strikes an Indian, 
all he does is to 
hook his nose to 
a tree, and there 
he is, fast and 
sound. And it 
gives him some- 
thing to rest his 
pipe on while he 
smokes, while, in 
the case of a man 
with a pug, the ring helps to pull his proboscis down, 
and to make it a Roman nose. But I look at him 
from a sanitary point of view. The Indian suffers from 
catarrh. Now, what will cure that disease 1 Metal in 
the nose in which electricity can be collected. Professor 
Huxley says that the electricity in a metal ring two inches 
in diameter will cure more catarrh than all the medicines 
between here and Kansas. The child of nature, with 
wonderful instinct, has perceived this, and he teaches 
us a lesson. When we, with our higher civilization, begin 



234 


I^ROFESSOR QUACKENBOSR. 


to throw away finger-rings and ear-rings, and to wear 
rings in our noses, we shall be a hardier race. I am 
going to direct the attention of Congress to the matter. 

“ Then take the objections that are urged to the Indian 
practice of driving a stake through a man, and building 
a bonfire on his stomach.' What is their idea.? They 
want to hold that man down. If they sit on him they 
will obstruct the view of him. They put a stake through 
him, and there he is secured by simple means, and if it is 
driven in carefully, it may do him good. Professor 
Huxley says that he once knew a man who was cured of 
yellow jaundice by falling on a pale-fence, and having a 
sharp -pointed paling run into him. And the bonfire may 
be equally healthy. When a man’s stomach is out of 
order, you put a mustard-plaster on it. Why ? To warm 
it. The red man has the same idea. He takes a few 
faggots, lights them, and applies them to the abdomen. 
It is a certain cure. Professor Huxley — ” 

“ That’s enough about Professor Huxley,” said Miles, 
the shopkeeper, interrupting the speaker. “We don’t 
care to hear any more about him.” 

“ Don’t care to hear any more about Huxley,” ex- 
claimed the Professor, with a look of feigned surprise 
upon his face. “ Don’t want to hear any more about that 
great and good man ! I can hardly believe it.” 

“ Well, we don’t, anyhow,” said Miles. 

The Professor rose, reflected a moment, and then 
said : “ Strange ! Strange ! that men prefer darkness to 
light ! That they would rather have blind ignorance than 
the glorious truth ! ” Then he reached over the counter, 
fumbled for a moment in the barrel, came up with a water 


PROFESSOR Q UA CKENBOS:^. 


235 


cracker in his hand, and slowly sauntered through the 
front door. / 

His feelings were hurt, but he was a forgiving man, 
and so, after staying away for a day or two, he came back 
again one night, and resumed his old place by the stove. 

After awhile there was a lull in the conversation, and 
the Professor, who had hitherto remained silent, cleared 
his throat, and said, quietly — 

“ I see that they talk of putting up a monument to 
Christopher Columbus. It’s too bad the way people ’ve 
been fooled about him. He never discovered America, 
and I’ve made up my mind to let the people see what 
kind of an old humbug he is.” ' ^ 

“You say that Columbus didn’t discover America?” 
said Mr. Partridge. 

“ Certainly he didn’t. He was a mean, lubberly 
rascal, \vho went paddling around in a scow, letting on he 
was doing big things, when he hadn’t courage enough to 
get out of sight of land.” 

“ Who did discover it then ? ” 

“ Well, I’ll tell you fellows in advance of publica- 
tion, but mind you keep quiet about it. It was Poti- 
phar ! ” 

“ What was his first name ? ” 

“First name? Why, he hadn’t any. It was only 
Potiphar — old Pharaoh’s Potiphar, you know.” 

“ How did you find out about it ? ” 

“Why, you know old Gridley, up in the T:ity ? Well, 
last year he was in Egypt, and he brought home a . 
mummy, all wrapped up in bedclothes, and soldered 
around with sealing-wax Gridley asked me to come 


236 


PROFESSOR QUACKENBOSS. 


over and help to undress him, and so we went at that 
mummy, and after rolling off a couple of hundred yards of 
calico, we reached him. Looked exactly like dried beef. 
Black as your hat, and just about tender enough to chip 
down for tea. Gridley said he’d like to know who the old 
chap was, and 1 looked him over to find out. You know 



how they put up a mummy, don’t 
you 1 Take out all his ma- 
chinery inside, and fill him up with 
nutmegs and cinnamon. Then they 
set a brass door-plate in his stomach? 
and make some little memoranda, with obituary poetry, 
and all that kind of thing. Anyhow, after polishing him 
up with a flesh-brush for a minute or two, I found the 
door-plate, and with some care I managed to read the 
inscription on it. It was this : ‘ I am Potiphar, servant of 
Pharaoh. I was buried three thousand years before the 
Christian era. I discovered America. C. Columbus was 
an impostor:’ That’s what the inscription said, and, in 


PROFESSOR QUACKENBOSS. 


237 


my opinion, that settles it. Now, I’ll tell you what I’m 
going to do. I’ve had a cast made of that dried beef, 
and I intend to have it swelled all out and made into a 
statue, and I’m going to set it up at my own expense, 
alongside the statue of Columbus, and have a sign put on 
it to the effect that Columbus is a fraud. Then I intend 
to get up a memorial to Congress, asking it to change the 
name of the country to Potipharia, and to make Poti- 
phar’s sacred animal, the cat, the emblematical bird of the 
nation, instead of the eagle.” 

You say you read the inscription on the plate,” said 
Partridge. “ I didn’t know you understood the language.” 

“ Can read it as easy as A B C.” 

“ ‘ Buried three thousand years before the Christian 
era,’ I think you said it read. How did old Pot know 
anything about the Christian era, if he died that long 
before ? ” 

“ Blamed if I know. Cast his prophetic eyes over the 
future, I s’pose.” 

“ Well, how could he tell that Columbus was going to 
claim to discover America ? ” 

^‘That’s so. I dunno. Is kind of queerj’ 

“Do you know what I think of you ? ” asked Part- 
ridge. 

“What?” 

“ I think that if there was a statue of a humbug to be 
erected, the nation would choose you for the honour, 
instead of Columbus, or any other man, ancient or 
modern.” 

“ Maybe it would ! maybe it would ! ” said the Pro- 
fessor ; and then he refilled his pipe from Partridge’s 


238 


PROFESSOR QUACKENBOSS, 


tobacco-pouch, which was lying in a box by his side, and 
relapsed into silence. 

It was never known why the Professor designed his 
great Nebuchadnezzar enterprise, but some people had a 
dark suspicion that he proposed to absorb for his own use 
any money that he secured. He entered the office of the 
Argus one day, and producing a huge roll of manuscript 
he said : 

Pve got something here that I want you to publish. 
IPs a ‘ Vindication of Nebuchadnezzar.’ ” 

“A what.?” 

‘‘I say I’ve got here a ‘Vindication of Nebuchad- 
nezzar.’ The object of it is to set Nebuchadnezzar right 
with the public, to clear up his record and give him some 
kind of a chance.” 

“ My dear sir, the public don’t care anything about 
Nebuchadnezzar. Our space is too limited for anything 
so unimportant.” 

“I think you are wrong. For about three thousand 
years people’s minds have been prejudiced against that 
great and good man. I’ve found some new records about 
him on some Babylonian bricks in the Patent Office at 
Washington, which present the matter in a new light. 
My intention now is that the Argus shall create a sensa- 
tion by publishing these facts, together with fac-similes 
of a cart load or two of the bricks, and then I shall 
ask you to head a subscription list for a Ne'buchad- 
nezzar Monument Fund. How much’ll I put you down 
for?” 

** Professor, you must excuse me. The subject is too 
unimportant for my attention.” 


PROFESSOR QUACA'ENBOSS. 


239 


“You make a mistake. 1 tell you the public mind is 
excited about the matter. Look at the frightful ^con- 
sequences of permitting these erroneous impressions about 
Nebuchadnezzar to continue ! Your young men are learn- 
ing them in the divinity schools. They carry them out 
into the world, into heathen lands. The ignorant African 
upon the banks of the Niger is taught to stay awake at 
nights in order to denounce Nebuchadnezzar. The 
deluded Esquimaux amid the frozen seas paddles about 
in his canoe harpooning seals, with the conviction that 
Nebuchadnezzar was a tyrannical old rascal. The red 
Indian, bounding oyer his native plains or removing 
the hair from the summit of his enemy, is instructed 
to howl as he reflects upon the misconduct of Nebu- 
chadnezzar. The almond-eyed children of China mingle 
execrations of Nebuchadnezzar with their most ordi- 
nary conversation. The whole race is down on him. 
He is the victim of universal disapprobation, now isn’t 

“ I don’t think he is.” 

“ Now, how would you like it if for the next three 
thousand years everybody was to believe that you were an 
old reprobate who ate grass } ” 

“ I wouldn’t care.” • 

“ Oh, well, maybe you ain’t a sensitive man. Nebuchad- 
nezzar was. His feelings were easily hurt. Old Baby- 
lonian bricks all mention that. Now this vindication of 
him will run through your paper about two months, and 
it’s bound to create such enthusiasm for the old man that 
people ’ll go without food to contribute money to run up 
some kind of a tombstone for him. And when I get 


240 


PROFESSOR QUACKENBOSS. 


through with him Pve got another serial vindicating Bel- 
shazzar, that ’ll run for a couple of months more, and then 
people ’ll be hungry to get out a monument for him. 
Now you mark me: this nation’ll not be ten years 
older before all those old chaps ’ll have monuments 
strung all along every where to them. There’s going 
to be an awakening on the subject in the popular mind. 
I’m going to set it up so’s when anybody says anything 
against Nebuchadnezzar the folks ’ll turn out and hang 
him to the nearest tree. A popular idea, you under- 
stand. Just wild about him,” 

“ I’m going to try to remain calm.” 

“ Now, what’ll you pay me a line for this vindication?” 

“ Pay you ! Why I wouldn’t print it if you’d pay me 
a dollar a line ! ” 

“ What ! Wouldn’t give a lift to an old man that’s 
been imposed on for three or four thousand years ? 
Wouldn’t do him a good turn, now he’s in his grave and 
can’t help himself ? ” 

“ Certainly not.” 

“Well, well! IVe heard a good deal about the 
liberality of a free press, and about journalistic enterprise, 
but I can’t see it. I thought, of course, that any news- 
papePd come to the rescue of an unT’ortunate fellow-creature 
when he’s in trouble.” 

“Well, I won’t.” 

“ Oh, all right ; all right ; but mark me ! I’m going to 
scratch on a brick somewheres that >ou are a reprobate, 
with the instincts of a hyena and the intellect of a shrimp ; 
and I’m going to bury that brick where it ’ll be turned up 
in three or four thousand years, so the people of those 


PROFESSOR QUACKENBOSS. 


241 


times ’ll know what to think of you. I’ll fix you, old boy, 
you see if I don’t.” 

Then Professor Quackenboss rolled up the vindication, ^ 
rubbed his nose on his sleeve, and went down-stairs 
warm with indignation. 



/ 



CERTAIN FACTS CONCERNING THEIR 
DEMORALIMTION. 


VERYBODY, we believe, 
excepting a few misan- 
thropists, admits that 
the human race, as a 
whole, has been steadily 
growing better under 
the beneficent and ex- 
tending influences of 
civilization. The careful observer, especially if , he be 
a parent, will, however, have a strong inclination to protest 
that the modern baby — regarded merely as a baby — 
cannot fairly be included in the number of those who are 
moving 'onward toward perfection. 

Concerning the characteristics of the babies of remote 
antiquity, we have no accurate information. We know 
that Moses, lying in the bulrushes, attracted the attention 
of Pharaoh’s daughter; but there is nothing in the Scrip- 



■BABIES. 


243 


^ — 

tural narrative which warrants the assumption that he did 
so by lifting up his voice and weeping. If an average 
baby of the present period could be placed in such a ' 
position, the chances are that it would Kowl so as to 
arouse the whole land of Egypt. But we have reliable 
accounts of the conduct of babies of the early part of this 
century, from elderly people who cared for them, and the 
evidence of these persons is that the babies of the period 
were stuffy and sleepy, and addicted to indulgence in a 
remarkable amount of silence. 

The infants of the present day are not thus. They 
come into the world apparently with two fixed resolves : 
not to stay asleep more than an hour or two in each 
night, and to give their lungs and vocal chords the largest 
opportunities of exercise. The old-fashioned baby 
slept serenely though cannons were fired by its ears. The 
modern baby considers it necessary to awake and remon- 
strate if the nurse steps about with a squeaking boot. The 
ancient baby merely warbled a little as a suggestion that 
it needed nourishment, or a few drops from the paregoric 
bottle. The preposterous baby of to-day cries loudest 
when it is fullest, and stays awake most when it has 
largest doses of narcotics. 

There is an elementof ingratitude in this behaviour 
which, unless there is a speedy reform, will be likely to 
create a permanent prejudice against the modern baby. 
Mankind has done a great deal for him. The old-time 
baby considered itself lucky if it could obtain an occasional 
ride in a rude box fastened to four uncouth wheels. The 
later baby goes out sumptuously in a gilded coach with 
falling-top and springs. The primeval baby was hushed 


244 


BABIES. 



to sleep with harsh and melodious rhythm. The pre- 
sent baby has had cradle-songs written expressly for it 
by Gounod, and 
Gottschalk, and 
Schubert, and 
Abt, and many 
other great com- 
posers — songs 
which ought to 
send a baby 
whirling into the 
land of dreams. 

The pre-revo- 
lutionary baby 
was rocked in a 
cradle the only 
motor of which was an intermittent and irregular mater- 
nal toe. The baby of our time is vibrated beautifully 
by clockwork. The baby of the misty past had but one 
food supply, and it had to use that or go hungry. The 
baby that howls beneath the brilliant light of our later 
civilization has the choice of many viands, from oatmeal 


gruel to toasted buns ; and for it were reserved the bless- 
'ings of the patent bottle with the india-rubber nozzle. 


In spite of all these things ; in spite of soothing syrups 
and woven undershirts and all the other devices of 


ingenious inventors who have spent years in getting up 
appliances for ameliorating the condition of babies, the 
modern infant persists in staying awake and howling with 
a persistency that is disgusting and disreputable. 

The cause of this wicked disposition is not clearly 


BABIES. 


245 


apparent ; if it were, something might be done in the way 
of procuring legislation to correct it. There are persons 
who attribute it to the force of original sin. The baby 
being small, and yet having as much of this dreadful heir- 
loom as a grown person, has greater pressure to the 
square inch, and he is compelled to yield to it. This 
theory will seem a little strained when we recur to the 
excellent conduct of the infant Moses, and remember that 
he was subjected to the same pressure, but succeeded in 
resisting it. The modem milkman may be partially respon- 
sible, for even .a totally depraved baby may be forgiven 
for screeching if an undue predominance of cold water in 
its diet awakes a pain more intense than any baby knew 
aforetime, when milkmen were guileless and the pump 
was not their chief coadjutor. 

The probability, however, is "that as the human race 
grows older, and more refined, and more fastidious, it 
also becomes more nervous, and that, consequently, the 
babies start in life with nervous systems much more deli- 
cate and more acutely sensitive than those that belonged 
to their predecessors. If this is the case, it is difficult to 
perceive precisely how the uproariousness of the average 
baby is to be subdued in any general and effectual 
manner, unless by the use of positive force. 

The properly-trained Indian baby never howls. The 
reason is that when it begins its career its mother sup- 
presses its very first outbursts by taking its nose between 
her forefinger and her thumb, and holding her palm over 
its mouth. Then it cannot cry without peril of bursting, 
and after a few ineiTectual attempts it abandons the busi- 
ness in despair, comprehends that silence is one of the 


246 


BABIES. 


f 


conditions of existence, and thenceforth it hides its sorrows 
and nurses its grief in secret. It is not by any means 
saddest when it sings. 

Extremes are very sure to meet. We may be approach- 
ing the day when the highly-civilized parent will be com- 
pelled to adopt the method of the wholly savage aborigine 
in compelling the average baby to refrain its ululations. 

These reflections are born of certain recent observa- 
tions of the conduct and misconduct of the babies who 
owe allegiance to my neighbours, the Magruders. 

The Magruders have twins, and although that fact 
was known to most persons living in the village, it was 
not known to Mr. Partridge, their next-door neighbour, 
when he came home from a summer’s sojourn at the 
sea-side. 

Upon the first nightrof his arrival, he was awakened 
about one o’clock by, some unusually loud caterwauling, 
apparently in Magruder’s yard. He rose, went to the 
window, and ejaculated “ Scat ! ” several times, but with- 
out effect. The noise continued. Then he fumbled 
around in the closet for an old boot, and projected it at 
the spot where he thought the cats were. There was a 
momentary lull, but in a minute or two the screeching 
became more vociferous than ever. Partridge went for 
another boot, and hurled it with terrific force into Magru- 
der’s yard, and then he followed it with another, and then 
the noise became a positive shriek. Partridge was gra- 
dually getting excited, and dashing into the closet he 
scooped up all the boots on the floor, and the bootjack, 
, and after flinging them over Magruder’s fence in quick 
succession, but without stopping the serenade, he danced 


BABIES. 


247 


around in a frenzy and fired off everything he could lay 
his hands on. Mrs. Partridge’s gaiters, the soap-cup, the 
towel-rack, the pomatum-jug, the cologne bottle, the foot- 
stool, Mrs. Partridge’s hoops, the hair-brushes, the wax 
fS»it, the hymn book, and the plaster image of little 
Samuel saying his prayers, with a stubby-nosed angel in 
a bolster- case watching him — ajl of these things were 
hurled furiously at the unseen cats; and still the duet 
proceeded. At last, when all the available material in 
the room, excepting the bedstead and Mrs. Partridge, had' 
been flung away, Partridge rushed downstairs for his gun, 
and then emptied both barrels into Magruder’s dining- 
room shutters. Then Magruder appeared at the back 
window, and exclaimed : 

‘‘ What in the thunder is the matter ? ” 

‘‘Matter.?” shouted Partridge, “why. I’m trying to 
stop those cats in your yard.” 

“What cats ?” inquired Magruder ; “ I don’t see any 
cats.” 

“ But you can hear ’em, can’t you .? They’ve been 
yowlin’ around down there for the last two hours like 
fury. There they go. Don’t you hear that ? Just listen 
to that, will you ? ” ^ 

“ Partridge, you certainly must be intoxicated. Cats ! 
Why, good gracious, man, those are the twins over here 
in our room. They were born last Friday.? Didn’t you 
hear about it ? ” 

“And I don’t want to hear about it now,” said Part- 
ridge, as he closed the window savagely, and went to bed. 

Magruder bought a coach for each of the children, 
when they were old enough to go out, and he bought a 


248 


BABIES. 


trained goat, which pulled one of the coaches, while the 
nurse-girl pulled the other. But one day the goat met 
another goat, that differed from him in politics or religion, 
or something, and each undertook to convince the other 
by jamming him in the skull. Every time Magruder’s 
goat would rear up, preparatory to making a lunge for- 
ward, Magruder’s baby would lurch over backwards, and 
when Magruder’s goat struck the other goat, the concus- 
sion would shake the milk in the baby’s stomach into 
butter. 

And sometimes the other goat would aim at Magru- 
der’s goat, which would dodge, and then the other goat 
would plunge headforemost into the coach, and mash the 
baby up in the most frightful manner. And in the midst 
of the contest a couple of dogs joined in, and Magruder’s 
goat backed off and tilted the coach into the gutter, and 
the dogs, biting around kind of generally, would snap at 
the goat and cause it to whirl the baby around just in 
time for the bite. Until at last the goat got disheartened 
and sprang through the fence, leaving the coach on the 
other side, and it struggled frantically to escape, while the 
other goat crowded up against the baby in order to avoid 
the dogs, and* finally knocked the baby out, and butted 
the coach to splinters. 

They say that the way Mrs. Magruder eyed Magru- 
der that afternoon, when they brought the baby home, 
mutilated and dishevelled, was simply awful to behold ; 
but she didn’t speak to him for a week, and he had to 
soften her down by buying her an ostrich feather for her 
winter hat. The goat is still at large. Anybody who 
wants him can have him free of charge. Magrudei 



Brought the baby home mutiiated.” — Pa^e 248. 


250 BABIES. 

doesn’t recognize him when he meets the animal upon the 
street. 

Magruder is enthusiastic upon the subject of the twins, 
and he is occasionally imprudent in expressing his feelings. 
A few months after the birth of the children, the whole 
town, one night, was aroused by a succession of shouts, fol- 
lowed by a firing of pistols and the springing of a watch- 
man’s rattle. In a few 
moments the entire popu- 
lation was in the street, 
and everybody hurried to 
the place from whence the 
noises came. When they 
reached Magruder’s house 
they saw Magruder lean- 
ing out of the \yindow 
turning a rattle furiously 
and halloaing at the top 
of his voice, while every 
now and then he would 
brandish his revolver and 
fire it half-a-dozen times. 

The policemen felt certain 
that burglars were in the house, and while they were 
bursting open the back window to capture the thieves, 
. a rumour spread that the house was afire. In two 
minutes the engine was on the ground, a ladder was 
raised, and they had a stream playing through the third 
story window. 

As the policemen forced the kitchen window, the fire- 
men kicked open the front door and rushed in, followed 



BABIES. 


251 

by the crowd. Magruder met them on, the stairs, and the 
Mayor of the town said : 

“ Magruder, what on earth is the matter ? ” 

Magruder danced about for a moment, and ^ then he 
shouted ; 

' I ' 

“ Come in, come right in, gentlemen, and see it.” : . 

“ See it ! .see what ? ” asked the Mayor. 

“ Why, the baby, one of the twins 1 Got a tooth ! just 
got its first tooth ! Go right up, and look at it for your- 
selves.” 

“ Mr. Magruder^” said the Mayor, sternly, “ do you 
mean to say that you have created all this disturbance for 
such a trivial reason ? ” 

“Trivial! I don’t understand you. Why, man, the 
child actually has a tooth ! ” , ^ 

The Mayor turned away, and >yent out ip silent disgust, 
and the crowd followed him. . n 

Good judges estimate that that tooth cost Magruder 
about four hundred dollars for damages, and Mrs.'Ma- 
gruder intimated to a friend that the appearance of sub- 
sequent teeth would be concealed from him until he was 
perfectly sober. 

There came a time, however, when Magruder had 
rather more of the twins than he wanted . One day he 
and Mrs. Magruder went to the railway station to start 
upon a journey to Chicago. They engaged berths in' a 
sleeping car, and they had the twins with them. A few 
moments before the hour of starting, Mrs. Magruder 
asked Mr. Magruder to hold the children for a moment, 
while she went to the waiting-room in the station to get a 
shawl that she had forgotten. 


252 


BABIES. 


She must have made a mistake about the time, for 
before she returned the train started, and Magruder was 
in a state of wild despair. Pretty soon the babies began 
to cry, and then — no words can describe his misery. 

All the passengers stared at him, and, as he dandled 
the babies upon his knees, the perspiration streamed from 
every pore. This kind of thing continued until nightfall, 
when Magruder put the children into a berth and tried to 
soothe them to sleep. But they were hungry, and they 
cried harder every moment. And while Magruder sat 
there beside them the long, long night, the passengers in 
the other berths groaned, and growled, and made savage 
remarks, and uttered the most uncharitable prophecies 
concerning the ultimate destination of the Magruder 
family. 

By the time morning came, Magruder was almost 
insane, and the twins were on the verge of starvation. 
He had nothing to give them but cigars and the bay-rum 
which he carried for his hair, and he knew those were not 
healthy. The first time the train stopped, he bolted out 
and bought a pie. When he returned, one of the twins 
had tumbled off the seat and had a broken nose ; but he 
stuffed them both with the pie until they were deathly 
sick, and then Magruder was in a worse case than ever. 

Finally, he reached Chicago in a condition of com- 
plete demoralization, and then he had to sit in the 
station with the babies for eight hours, lest he should 
miss Mrs. Magruder, who he knew would come in the 
next train. 

And she did come, but when Magruder saw her he did 
not greet her warmly. He arose and went out into the 


BABIES, 


253 

fresh air in order to calm his feelings, so as to avoid an 
exciting conjugal scene in a public place. Then-he hired 
a cab, and, placing his family in it, they drove to an 
hotel. ^ ^ 

The next time he goes upon a journey, Mrs. Magruder 
will remain at home with the offspring. 




\ \ 



A SERIOUS STORY* 



ELL, Bessie, so the 
time has come at 
last.” 

“No, Tom, not 
quite yet. This is 
only the twenty- 
third, you know. 
Two more days ; 
then Christmas, 
and then our wed- 
ding.” 

“ Oh, well,” re- 
plied Tom, “ the 
great event is so 
near, that after our 
long waiting the 
two days seem as 
nothing.” 


* It may interest some one to learn that the principal incident of 
this story occurred precisely as it is here narrated. 


THE SHOALS LIGHTHOUSE, 


“^55 ' 


A great many i/onderful things may happen in two 
days, Tom.” 

“Yes, but nothing can happen to separate us, Bessie, 
You are mine and I am yours. Our lives join together 
now, and no man may part them asunder.” 

“Oh, I hope and believe there may be nothing to 
interfere with our happiness,” said Bessie. “ The sky is 
very bricrht for us now, and I cannot conceive of any 
calamity which could befall us before our wedding,” 

“Of course not,” replied Tom. “Don’t think of 
such a diing. It will be good-bye to you to-day,, 
good-bye to-morrow, and then no more farewells for 
ever, for we shall be man and wife. But maybe I 
won’t be here to-morrow, though, until late in the . 
evening.” 

“ Why ?” asked Bessie. 

“ Because I think I shall go duck-shooting over at the 
Shoals with Jan Eckels, and it is hardly likely I shall get 
back before supper time.” 

“Who is Jan Eckels?” inquired Bessie. 

“Why, a young Norwegian, a fisherman who lives on 
Star Island. He says the gunning around there is splendid 
now, and he is going to take me over in his boat in the 
morning.” 

“ Isn’t it a little dangerous out on the open sea at this 
season, Tom ?” 

“Not a bit, when the weather is fine. Jan is a first- 
rate sailor, and we won’t go, you know, if there is danger 
of a storm. I will be around to-morrow night early, 
Bessie, for certain.” 

“ I hope so,” said Bessie. “ But, Tom, dear, for fear 


256 


THE SHOALS LIGHTHOUSE. 


you shouldn’t get back in time, I’ve half a notion to give 
you your Christmas present now. Shall 1 .” 

“You might as well, Bess. I have yours in my pocket 
now. Let’s exchange to-night.” 

Bessie bounced out of the room and returned presently 
with a tiny morocco box. Tom took from his pocket a 
case, from which he removed a beautiful locket and chain, 
which he fastened upon Bessie’s neck. 

“ Oh, Tom ! isn’t it beautiful ? I can’t tell you how 
much I am obliged to you. It is the very thing I wanted. 
It was very, very kind of you to find out what I wished. 
And now let me give you yours. Hold out your hand, 
sir! There!” 

And Bessie placed upon her lover’s finger a dainty 
amethyst ring. 

“ It’s magnificent,” exclaimed Tom, holding it at a 
distance and admiring the stone. 

“And I havf had an inscription placed inside,” said 
Bessie, 

“ ‘ From Bessie Archer to Thomas Freeborn 
Christmas^ 186-.’ 

“It is the last thing Bessie Archer will give you, Tom. 
Before present-giving times come round again, I shall be 
Bessie Freeborn.” 

Then the good-nights were said in that sweet old 
fashion which all true lovers know, and so they parted, 
each with a soul full of pure happiness in the present, and 
of tender hope for that blissful future which seemed so 
close at hand. 

Tom Freeborn, the son of a widow, whose only child 







It’s magnificent, ” said Tom . — Page 356, 


17 



258 


THE SHOALS LtCHTHOUSE. 


he was, and who loved him with such deep affection that 
she was almost jealous of the fair girl who had come to 
share his heart, returned to his home and began his 
preparations for the morrow’s expedition. Bessie Archer, 
the only daughter of a wealthy banker, and a woman 
whose lovely face was but the outward sign of the purity 
which crowned her character, retired to rest, to wait amid 
pleasant dreams the morrow which would bring her 
nearer to the consummation of her happiness. 

The town of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in which 
these persons lived, lies close upon a river which flows -in 
tortuous course until, a mile or two below the wharves, 
it empties into the sea. Twelve miles beyond, out in the 
ocean, lie the Isles of Shoals, a group of small islands, 
some of which are inhabited, one of which uprears alight- 
house boldly from its cliffs, and others of which have no 
signs of a man’s presence, but are the resort of the wild 
geese, and swans, and ducks, of the white owl and the sea- 
gulls, the fish-hawk and the stormy petrel. 

From the little settlement upon the rocky hill of Star 
Island came Jan Eckels on that bright December morn- 
ing in his open boat, containing two masts, as is the 
fashion in that region with the craft of the fishermen. He 
belonged to a family of Norwegians, many of whom are 
found upon the islands and upon the mainland in the 
vicinity ; and he handled his little shell of a boat with 
the dexterity of one who had spent his life upon the 
water. 

Tom was waiting for him at the wharf when he arrived, 
but as the tide was running swiftly up the channel and 
^as nearly at the flood, Jan determined to wait for it to 


THE SHOALS LIGHTHOUSE. 


259 


turn rather than to try to beat down the crooked stream 
against it. So, when the two sportsmen finally set out 
upon their journey, it was after ten o’clock, and two hours 
more would elapse before they could reach Duck Island, 
their destination. But the day, though cold, was clear 
and beautiful, and the wind as it filled the sails and swept 
the boat over the rough waters gave them no discomfort, 
for they were warmly clad and well used to such expo- 
sure. 

There was splendid sport at the island. Freeborn 



and Eckels landed in a small cove where the surf did not 
beat, and, fastening the boat’s painter to a rock, they took 
up their guns and started for the eastern shore. All the 
afternoon they tramped about over the rugged and 
broken surface of the place, creeping behind first one 
boulder and then another as they approached the game, 
until, when the sun approached the horizon, they counted 
up a goodly number of black ducks and three or four 


26 o 


THE SHOALS LIGHTHOUSE. 


superb swans. As they were looking over the trophies of 
their sport and placing them in the bags, Eckels said: 

“We had better hurry, Mr. Freeborn. It looks pretty 
dark yonder, and Pm afeard we’ll have a squall.” 

“ Not much of a one, I hope,” replied Tom, beginning 
to move toward the boat. “ I don’t care to get a wetting 
such a cold night as this. We should freeze to death.” 

“ We must make good time then,” said Eckels, “ foi 
it’s going to rain, certain, and Pm afeard of a big blow.” ' 

They reached the boat, and tossed the game and the 
fowling-pieces into it, and then, jumping in themselves, 
Jan hastily raised the sails, and they started toward Ports- 
mouth. The wind blew strongly from the north-west, 
and the clouds came scurrying thick and fast overhead, 
becoming blacker and blacker every moment, while the 
surface of the sea was covered with the white-caps, the 
great waves rolling in mightier masses each moment as 
the wind grew fiercer. 

“ Pm afeard we won’t make it,” said Jan, with a scared 
look upon his face. “ There’ll be a gale before we reach 
the harbour, and then take care ! We’ll have trouble, Mr. 
Freeborn.” 

“ Well, let’s drive ahead and do our best,” replied Tom, 
gloomily. 

“Look! — look there !— there it comes, sure enough!” 
shouted Jan. “ The squall has got us ! ” 

Tom did look, and far out upon the sea he could per- 
ceive the waves in fearful tumult, while above them a 
dense white cloud swept forward with terrible velocity. 
In a moment they were blinded by the storm of snow 
•’ hich dashed into their faces, and while the wind roared 


THE SHOALS LIGHTHOUSE. 


261 


about their ears with a shriek such as might have come 
from the lips of a host of maddened fiends, their boat was 
tossed about in the angry billows with such violence that 
it seemed as if it must go to pieces But Jan clung to the 
helm, and desperately strove to guide the craft, and he 
still showed in his face that he had a brave hope of 
weathering the storm. He was about to say a cheerful 
word to Tom, when the handle was wrenched from his 
grasp, and as he caught it again, a cry of agonized despair 
reached Tom through the noise of the tempest. 

“The rudder is gone!” shrieked Jan ; “ we are lost ! 
we are lost ! ” 

The boat, no longer controlled by the helm, whirled 
around with her broadside to the wind, and in an instant 
there was a crash as both masts were swept over the side, 
one of them striking Jan’s arm in its descent, and wound- 
ing him severely. But the staunch little ship did not 
capsize. She was built for rough work, and she remained 
upright. Jan sank upon the floor in utter helplessness, 
and cried like a child. He could do nothing in his crippled 
condition, even if there was anything to be done. But 
the waves now and then swept over the boat, and she was 
gradually filling with water, so Tom, after placing Jan 
upon one of the thwarts, went to work to bale the water 
out as fast as possible. While he was thus busy, a cry 
from Jan caused him to look up ; they were hurrying past 
the White Island lighthouse, and they were so close to it, 
that through the dusk they could see the keeper upon the 
shore making frantic gestures to thena But, alas I no 
help could come to them. 

They dashed by at frightful speed, and in a moment 


262 


THE SHOALS LIGHTHOUSE. 


the tall shaft of the lighthouse was but a white speck amid 
the gloom, The air became colder ; each wave that 
dashed into the boat covered the unhappy men with a 
sheet of ice, and the spray hurled upward by the sea an 
its fury fell upon them in icy particles which stung their 
frozen faces until the agony became almost unendurable. 
Tom kept his blood in active circulation by his exertions 
to relieve the boat from the water. But Jan— before the 
lighthouse was an hour behind, Jan suddenly fell prone 
upon the boat’s floor, and lay there motionless. Tom 
leaped to his side and tried to lift him. He wore an icy 
coat of mail from head to foot ; his arm was pulseless, 
his eyes were set in a stony glare, and his breathing had 
ceased. His soul had gone out from the midst of that 
wild and terrible tumult of the elements into the land of 
everlasting peace. 

The tears came into Tom’s eyes as he looked down 
upon the face of his dead comrade, and he broke forth 
into loud lamentations. But he could not pause from his 
labour to indulge in mourning. The boat was filling each 
moment, and nothing but desperate exertion remained 
between him and certain death. The boat itself was now 
cased in ice and sank deeply into the water, and Tom 
perceived that he must bale more rapidly or be swallowed 
up in the angry sea. 

Onward and onward he hurried before the pitiless 
blast, the gale seeming to increase in fury every moment. 
He saw the light on Cape Cod as he went swirling by in 
the darkness, and he knew that he had come nearly a 
hundred miles upon that frightful voyage. Where would 
it end? He did not dare to think. He must work — 


• THE SHOALS LIGHTHOUSE. ^63 

work desperately, savagely, with every energy of soul and 
body. And so with fierce, unceasing toil, which seemed 
too terrible to be endured much longer, with now a thought 
that it would be better to stop and let the end come, then 
with a remembrance of Bessie and of the blessedness of 
life, and with hope of rescue and salvation, he struggled 
on until daylight came ; and as the gale died away, little 
by little, the sun came out and looked down upon a float- 
ing mass of ice, bearing up a corpse that lay statue-like 
upon its frozen bier ; and a man, haggard and pale, and 
covered, like his lost companion, with a glittering shroud. 

Utterly worn out with his awful battle with fate, Tom 
lodced about him to see if any help might be near. He 
espied a barque far ahead, and lying right in his course. 
He ceased baling, and tying his handkerchief to an oar, 
and holding it upward, waved it to and fro. The signal 
was seen. The barque went about and stood straight for 
him. The boat swept closer and closer, and Tom’s heart 
was filled with a great and eager hope of rescue. The 
boat dashed beneath the bows of the vessel, and coursed 
along its side. A rope was thrown to him by a sailor. 
He clutched it frantically and held it fast. The boat 
swept away beneath him, and he plunged into the sea. 

He is lost,^’ was the cry that reached him from the 
deck. 

Not so. He tl^rust his arm through the loop in the 
rope, a sturdy pull from the sailor tightened the slip-knot, 
and in a moment he lay upon the deck ; while Jan, in his 
icy tomb, went hurtling far, far out to sea, and to burial 
beneath the rolling billows. 

A great dread filled two hearts in Portsmouth on the 


264 


THE SHOALS LIGHTHOUSE, 


night of the storm, when hour after hour passed, and Tom 
did not return. Bessie was very hopeful though, for she 
thought her lover might have returned too late to visit 
her, and had gone home. “^But his mother spent the night 
in agony, fearing the worst, and yet half believing that her 
boy and his companion had landed upon one of the 
islands and remained there, rather than to attempt the 
passage of that raging sea. 

In the morning Bessie called early at Mrs. Freeborn’s, 
and was greatly alarmed to find that Tom was not at 
home. Both women then sought Bessie’s father' for advice, 
and he instantly dispatched a boat to the islands to dis- 
cover if Tom and Eckels had spent the night there. 

Four or five hours elapsed before the messenger 
returned; and meantime Bessie and Mrs. Freeborn en- 
dured torture, for they were certain Tom would have come 
back early in the morning, if he had been detained at the 
Shoals. And when the boatman at last presented him- 
self, he had a sad, sad story to tell. He had talked with 
the keeper of the lighthouse, who said that a terrible 
squall struck the islands late yesterday afternoon, and 
that while he stood upon the rocks of the shore he had 
seen Jan’s boat go dying past in the tempest with masts 
and rudder gone, with Jan sitting motionless upon the 
thwart, and with Tom desperately striving to keep the 
boat from sinking. There could be no doubt, the keeper 
said, that they were lost. No boat could live in such a 
sea, and this one was a wreck when it reached the light- 
house. 

A wild cry of anguish came from Bessie’s lips at this 
recital, while Mrs. Freeborn gave herself up to frantic 


THE SHOALS LIGHTHOUSE. 


2 ^ 

grief. The two women, somewhat estranged before, were 
brought close together by their common sorrow. Both 
had dearly loved the poor drowned lad, and both were 
stricken with the same intense and overwhelming anguish. 
And as Bessie strove, amid her own suffering, to comfort 
the woman who was thus left desolate in the world, the 
flame of a new affection was kindled between them, and 
the mother loved the girl because her son had loved her ; 
while Bessie felt that in Tom’s mother she could find the 
only person in the world who could give her fullest com- 
passion and sympathy in her great misery. 

And so these two became fast friends. Bessie was 
often at Mrs. Freeborn’s house; and as the weeks and 
months passed away, and no tidings came of poor Tom, 
all hope faded out of their hearts, and they gave up for 
ever the expectation of seeing him again. But they 
talked to each other of him, and in the rehearsal of his 
characteristics, and the recital of the events with which 
each was familiar in his life, they found strong consolation 
in their communion with each other. 

A year passed away. Christmas came again, with its 
solemn memories, and brought no joy to Bessie or to Mrs 
Freeborn, Then another year came and went ; and the 
two women, one grey and haggard, with deep furrows 
upon her brow, and with the story of a great sorrow 
written upon her face ; the other still wearing the bloom 
of youth, still beautiful and full of physical grace and 
vigour, but grave and sad with the memory of the afflic- 
tion which was ever fresh in her mind — these two were 
yet companions. But, a month afterwards, Mrs. Free- 
born died, suddenly, while Bessie was absent from home ; 


266 


THE SHOALS LIGHTHOUSE. 


and ere she had recovered from the shock caused by this 
intelligence, her father’s fil m -failed, and he came home to 
her one night a beggar. Mrs. Freeborn had intended to 
give Tom’s inheritance to Bessie ; but, alas ! she died 
without making a will, and her relatives took all of her 
property. 

After trying in vain for several months to obtain em- 
ployment, Mr. Archer accepted an appointment as keeper 
of the lighthouse on White Island, and there upon that 
narrow rock, far from the great world, and almost isolated 
from humanity, the two established their home. In this 
lonely spot the summer and autumn passed, and during 
the pleasant weather Bessie would often seat herself upon 
the shore, where the light-keeper on that fatal night had 
seen Jan’s boat coursing through the torrent, and try to 
picture to herself the dreadful scene. And never did the 
wind howl about their little dwelling, or the roaring sea 
hurl its mighty surges against the lighthouse and the 
barrier of rocks around it, but Bessie would think of the 
storm that swept away her darling, and of the horror of 
that death amid the seething waves. 

Winter came, and with it many a furious war of the 
elements, during which Bessie’s heart sometimes was 
filled with fear lest even they, upon that tiny spot of earth 
and stone, might be submerged by the mountain waves 
which rolled in awful volume against the shore. The 
weary days and nights went by, and Christmas-eve came 
again, bringing with it the most terrible gale that the 
Archers had ever encountered since their hermitage began. 
The sea was a boiling cauldron in which the waters were 
flung wildly to and fro, the white crests which crowned 


THE SHOALS LIGHTHOUSE. 


267 


the waves being merged in one weltering mass of foam 
that shone strangely out from the black darkness of the 
night. The lantern overhead in the lighthouse shot its 
red and white light far out over the waters, warning 
mariners to avoid the treacherous rocks which here lurk 
close beneath the surface ; and against the thick glass 
which surrounded the light, swarms of birds, fleeing before 
the howling storm, were dashed and fell crushed and dead 
among the boulders beneath. The wind shrieked and 
screamed so fearfully about the low hut at the foot of the 
tower, that the two occupants could scarce hear their own 
voices even when they spoke in loudest tones. 

“It is an awful night, Bessie,” said Mr. Archer. 
“ Heaven help any poor sailors who are caught in this 
neighbourhood in such a storm. It will be certain death 
for them.” 

Before Bessie could reply, a dull thud was heard out- 
side above the roar of the tempest. Then another and 
another. 

“ They are signal guns ! ” exclaimed Mr. Archer, leap- 
ing to his feet. “ Hark ! there they are again ! They 
are firing rapidly, and the vessel is evidently close at 
hand!” 

The two rushed to the window and looked out. 
Nothing could be seen- but the thick gloom and that 
ghastly white surface of the restless sea. Again the guns 
were heard, and then the sound ceased. Bessie and her 
father sat silently for awhile before the fire, each thinking 
of the horrors which the morrow’s sun might reveal to 
them, and at last Mr. Archer said : 

“She has gone ashore, I fear, either on Duck Island 


268 


THE SHOALS LIGHTHOUSE. 


or on Smutty Nose. It is the latter, I think, or we 
should not have heard her guns so plainly.” 

And*'Bessie clasped her father’s hand tightly, and^ 
thought how poor Tom had braved such a tempest and 
had gone down into the fathomless depths to which these 
unfortunate men even now were sinking. Sleep was 
impossible on such a night, and Bessie kept watch with 
her father, who must remain awake to charge the lamps 
every hour with fresh supplies of oil 

It was after midnight when the guns were heard, and 
Bessie sat by the fireside until the early dawn, when her 
father ascended the tower to extinguish the lights. Mr. 
Archer had been gone but a few moments, when he came 
running down in extreme agitation. As he entered the 
room, he exclaimed ; 

Bessie, let us go out to the beach quickly. I think a 
body has been washed ashore. I saw it from the lantern. 
Come ! ” And the two hurried through the doorway. 

The rain had ceased, and the wind, though blowing 
strongly from the west, had lost much of its violence. 
They ran down the pathway to the spot where Bessie 
had so often stood and imagined Tom’s terrible jourpey, 
and there, as Mr. Archer had supposed, lay the body of a 
drowned sailor. He had lashed himself to a spar, and 
had probably remained afloat for some time ; but the 
pitiless waves had swept over and over him until he had 
ceased to breathe, and then they had cast him from their 
deadly embrace upon this morsel of kindly mother earth 
for Christian burial. He was a tall, manly fellow, with 
bronzed and rugged face, strong arms, a flowing beard, 
and dark-brown hair. Mr. Archer cut away the lashings, 


THE SHOALS LIGHTHOUSE. 269 

and they carried him up to the house and placed him 
before the fire. They determined to attempt his resusci- 
tation, although they had little hope of effecting it, for the 
sailor had probably been in the water, dead, for several 
hours. 

While Mr. Archer breathed into the man’s lungs, 
Bessie determined to chafe his hands. She seized one of 



them for the purpose, when a loud exclamation from her 
attracted her father’s attention. Bessie was examining an 
amethyst ring upon the man’s finger, while her face grew 


270 " 


THE SHOALS LIGHTHOUSE, 


pale as death. She drew the ring away and looked upon 
the inside of it ; then she gazed steadfastly for a moment 
in the sailor’s face, and with a faint cry swocmed away. 
Mr. Archer picked up the fallen ring from the floor and 
read the inscription in it. It was this — 

“ Frofn Bessie Archer to Thomas Freeborn^ 
Christmas i i86 — 

This, indeed, was Tom, come back in this strange 
and dreadful fashion, and led — by what mysterious 
fate? — to the very feet of the woman he had loved. 
And when Bessie had recovered herself, she and her 
father went to work again with renewed earnestness, 
both ^th eager hope ; but Bessie with a mighty 
longing in her heart, which was too overpowering for 
language. 

Half an hour passed, and Mr. Archer thought he per- 
ceived a convulsive movement of the chest. They re- 
doubled their exertions, and presently the breast heaved 
slowly and painfully, and a sigh escaped from the 4ips. 
In a few moments the spark of life which had been so 
nearly extinguished was rekindled, and the patient w^as 
carried to the bed, where, after a few draughts of brandy, 
consciousness returned, and Tom, suffering intensely, lay 
moaning and sighing, too feeble to look upon those who 
had saved him. Then he fell into a deep sleep, and before 
he awoke Mr. Archer sent for assistance to Star Island. 
He feared the shock would be fatal if Tom should see 
and know him or Bessie while he was so ill. 

But careful and tender nursing soon gave him strength, 
and in a few days Mr. Archer entered the room. Tom in* 


THE SHOALS LIGHTHOUSE. 


271 


stantly recognized him ; but even his great surprise did 
not keep back the words that came first to his lips : “Is 
Bessie still alive ? ” ~ And then Mr. Archer sat beside 
Tom and told the whole story of his failure, their life at 
the lighthouse, and his rescue ; and when Bessie entered 
at his summons, he went out and left those two^ alone in 
their great joy. It was too sacred an occasion for the 
presence of another. It was the blissful ending of a long 
night of pain and sorrow and bereavement, the dawn of 
a day of happiness and peace. 

Tom had a very extended story to tell of his adven- 
tures, but we must make it a brief one here. The vessel 
which rescued him from the boat was a v'haler, outward 
bound for the Pacific, and he remained upon her for nearly 
two years. She was driven ashore near Cape Horn, and 
wrecked as she was coming home, and Tom and the other 
survivors were left upon the desolate coast in a most for- 
lorn condition for several months. Finally, they were 
taken off by a brig bound for Liverpool, and when that 
port was reached, Tom found a vessel that was about to 
sail for Portland, Maine. He shipped with her as a 
sailor before the mast, and just as she was about to 
end her voyage, she was caught in the great storm, 
and driven on Smutty Nose Island. Tom-^said he 
knew the locality at once, and determined to try to 
save himself by lashing himself to a spar. He became 
unconscious in the water, and awoke to find himself 
saved. 

Before another Christmas came around, Tom and 
Bessie were married ; and with his mother’s fortune, 
which he claimed and secured, he gave to Bessie and 


THE SHOALS LIGHTHOUSE. 


272 

her father, a comfortable home,*’’ where they lived 
together in such complete felicity as is surely granted 
when from a great tribulation the soul comes at last 
into the full fruition of its hopes and to the serenity of 
perfect rest. 



i 



f|r. a 

HE wife of my neigh- 
bour, Mr. Archibald 
N. Fisher, was at- 
tacked some years 
ago by a very dan- 
gerous malady, from 
which there was, 
from the first, very 
little hopes of her 
recovery. And one 
day when Mr. Fisher 
came home, they 
communicated to him the sad intelligence that she was no 
more. When the first outbreak of grief had subsided, he 
sent an order to the undertaker for a coffin, he tied crape 
on the door-knob, he sent his hat around to the store to 
have it draped in black, he advertised the death in the 
papers with some poetry attached to the announcement, 
and he made general preparations for the funeral. Then 
he sat down in the parlour with his great sorrow, and his 

friends tried to comfort him. 
iS 



MR. FISHER'S BEREAVEMENTS. 


274 

“ It’s no use,” he said ; “ I’ll never get over it. There 
never was any woman like her, and there never will be 
again. I don’t want to live without her. Now she’s 
gone, I’m ready to go any time. I’d welcome the grave. 
What’s life to a man like me ? It’s a void - an empty void ; 
that’s what it is ; and there is no 'more happiness in it for 
me.” 

“ You must try to bear up under it,” said Dr. Potts. 
“ These afflictions are meant for our good. She is now 
an angel.” 

“ I know ! I know ! ” said Mr. Fisher, sobbing, but 
there’s no comfort in that. An angel is no use to me. 
Angels don’t make your home happy. They don’t sew on 
buttons and look after the children. I’d rather have a 
woman like Mrs. Fisher than the best of them.” 

“ But,” said Dr. Potts, “ you must reflect how much 
happier she is now ; you must remember that our loss is 
her gain.” 

“ Well, I don’t see it,” replied Fisher. “ She was happy 
enough here, bustling around, making things lively, 
quarrelling with me sometimes, bless her dear heart, when 
I annoyed her, and scolding away all day long at the 
children and the hired girl, making music in the house. 
Who’s she going to scold now, I’d like to know ? 
How’s she going to relieve her feelings when she gets 
mad? Flying around in a night-gown with wings on 
behind her shoulder blades. And what I say is, that if 
Henrietta had her choice, she rather be home here tending 
to things, even if every day in the week was a rainy wash- 
day. Now I know she would.” 

‘‘You take a gloomy view of things now,”^said Dr. 


MR. FISHERY S BEREAVEMENTS. 


275 


a 

Potts. “After a while the skies will seem brighter to 
you.” 

“No, they won’t,” said' Mr. Fisher. “They’ll grow 
darker until there’s a regular awful thunderstorm of grief. 

I can’t live through it. It’ll kill me. I’ve a notion to 
jump into Henrietta’s grave and be buried with her. I’ve 
got half a mind to commit suicide, so I can ” 

Just, here the doctor came downstairs and into the 
parlour, with a smile on his face. Mr. Fisher saw it, and 
stopping abruptly, he said : 

“ Dr. Burns, how you can smile in the midst of the 
awful desolation of this family, is more than I can under- 
stand, and I don’t ” 

“ I’ve got some good news for you, Mr. Fisher,” said 
the doctor. • 

“ No, you haven’t,” said Fisher. “ There can* be no 
more good news for me in this world.” 

“ Mrs. Fisher is alive.” 

“ What?” 

“ Mrs. Fisher is alive,” said the doctor. “ She was 
only in a condition of suspended animation after all. 
She’ll be perfectly well, I think, in a few days.” 

Mr. Fisher wiped his eyes, and with a frown upon his 
face put his handkerchief in his pocket, and said : 

“ You don’t really mean to say Mrs. Fisher’s going to 
rise up from her bed, and remain alive ? Going to remain 
here with us ? ” 

“ Precisely! and I congratulate you heartily.” 

“ Oh, you needn’t congratulate W(?,” exclaimecTFisher, 
rising and looking gloomily oufbf the window. “ This is a 
pretty piece of business 1 But it’s just like Henrietta. She 


2^6 MR. FISHER ’5 BEREA VEMENTS. 


- always was the contrariest woman in the state ! Who’s 
going to pay the undertaker’s bill, I’d like to know ? She 
can just do it herself ; and the advertising, and that 
poetry, and the crape, and aU the things ! I never heard 
of such foolishness !~ It makes me mad for women to be 
carrying on so ! Hanged if I’m going to ” 

Just here the boy came in with Mr. Fisher’s hat, with a 
weed around it, and Fisher, giving the hat a savage kick, 
said to the boy ; 

“ You miserable little scoundrel, get out of here, or 
I’ll break your neck.” 

Then the company adjourned, and Fisher, taking the 
crape off the door-knob, went around to see the undertaker. 

But Mrs. Fisher did not get well. Two or three days 
later she suffered a relapse, and within a week she passed 
peacefully away. Upon the same day one of Mr. Fisher’s 
fellow-townsmen, Lucius Grant, lost his wife, and the 
interments were made in the cemetery upon the same day, 
and at about the same hour. 

As the two funeral parties were coming out of the 
burying ground, Fisher met Grant, and clasping each 
other’s hand they indulged in a sympathetic squeeze, and 
the following conversation ensued : 

• Fisher — “ I'm sorry for you. It’s an unspeakable loss, 
isn’t it?” 

Grant—'' Awful. She was the best woman that ever 
lived.” 

Fisher — “ She was indeed. I never met her equal. 
She w^ a good wife to me.” 

Grant — “ I was referring to my wife. There couldn’t 
be two best you know.’’ 





" They indulged in a sympathetic squeeze.”— 276 





278 MR. FTSHER ’ 5 ' BEREA VEMENTS. 


Fisher — “Yes, I know. I know well enough that 
your wife couldn’t hold a candle to mine.” 

Grant — “ She couldn’t, hey ? Couldn’t hold a candle. 
Why she could lead Mrs. Fisher every day in the week, 
including Sundays, and not half try ! She was an angel.” 

Fisher — “ Oh, she was, was she? Well, I don’t want 
to be personal, but if I owned an angel as bony as an ^ 
omnibus horse, I’d kill her if she didn’t die of her own 
accord.” 

G 7 -ant—'‘ Better be bony than wear the kind of a red 
nose that your wife flourished around this community. 
It’ll burn a hole through the coffin lid. And you pretend 
you’re sorry she’s gone. But you can’t impose on me ! 

I know you’re glad enough to hurrah about it.” 

Fisher — “ If you abuse my wife. I’ll knock you down,” 

Grant— I’d like to see you try it.” 

There would have been a hand-to-hand combat be- 
tween the two disconsolate widowers, if the friends of the 
parties had not interfered at this juncture. Grant’s friends 
thrust him in a carriage, and drove away, while Fisher 
was put in the carriage with Rev. Dr. Potts, and he spent 
the time consumed by the journey in giving expression to 
his sorrow for the loss of his wife. 

“ Doctor,” he said, “ in one respect I never saw her 
equal. I’ve known that dear woman to take an old pair 
of my trousers, and cut them up for the boys. She’d 
make a splendid suit of clothes for both of them out of 
those old trousers, get out stuff enough for a coat for the 
baby, and a cap for Johnny, and have some left over for 
rag- carpet, besides making handkerchiefs out of the 
pockets, and a bustle for herself out of the other linings. 


MR. FISHER ^S BEREA VEMENTS. 


2^9 


Give her any old garment, and it was as good as a gold 
mkie. She’d take a worn-out stocking and make a brand 
new overcoat out of it, 



I believe. She had a 
turn for that kind of 
economy. There’s one 
of my shirts that I 
bought in 1847, still 
going about making 
itself useful as windovv 
curtains and panta- 
lettes, and plenty of 
other things. Only last 
July our gridiron gave 
out, and she took it 
apart, and in two hours 
it was rigged on the 
side of the house as a 
splendid lightning rod, 


all except what she had 

made into a poker and an ice-pick. Ingenious ? Why, 
she kept our family in buttons and whistles out of the 
ham bones she saved, and she made fifteen chicken-coops 
from her old hoop skirts, and a pig-pen out of her used- 
up corset bones. She never wasted a solitary thing. Let 
a cat die around our house, and the first thing you knew 
Mary Jane’d have a muff and set of furs, and I begin to 
find mince-pies on the dyjner-table. She’d stuff a feather 
bed with the feathers that she’d got off of one little bit of 
a rooster. I’ve seen her cook potato parings so’s you’d 
think they were canvas-back duck, and she had a way of 


28 o 


MR, FISHER 'S BEREA VEMENTS, 


doctoring up shavings, so that the pig’d eat ’em and grow 
fat on ’em. I believe that woman could a built a four- 
storey hotel, if you’d a given her a single pine board ; or a 
steamboat out of a wash-boiler ; and the very last thing 
she said to me was to bury her in the garden so’s she’d be 
useful down below there, helping tp shove up the cab- 
bages. I’ll never see her like again.” 

When the mourners all got home, Mr. Grant tied 
crape upon all his window-shutters, to show how deeply 
he mourned, and as Fisher knew that his grief for Mrs. 
Fisher was deeper, he not only decorated his shutters, 
but he fixed five yards of black bombazine on the bell- 
pull, and dressed his whole family in mourning. Then 
Grant "determined that his duty to the departed was not 



to let himself be beaten by a man who couldn’t feel any 
genuine sorrow, so he sewed a black flag on his lightning- 
rod, and festooned the front of his house with black 
alpaca. 

Then Fisher became excited, and he expressed his 
sense of bereavement by painting his dwelling black, and 
by putting up a monument to Mrs. Fisher in his front 
yard. Grant thereupon stained his yellow horse with 
lampblack, tied crape to his cow’s horn, daubed his dog 


FISHER ^S BEREA VEMENTS. 


281 


with ink, and began to wipe his nose on a black hand- 
kerchief. 

These little indulgences in generous rivalry lasted for 
nearly a year ; and it is impossible to say what would 
have been the result of the contest, had not Fisher, in the 
midst of his sorrow, suddenly discovered in his heart a 
deep affection for a Miss Lang, a young lady who hap- 
pened to be visiting one of Fisher’s friends. Fisher 
began to pay her attention, and as he did so, he gradually 
removed the manifestations of his grief for the dear 
departed. 

A year later they were married, and this made Mr. 
Grant so angry, that he went around to the widow Jones’s, 
and proposed, and was accepted on the spot. 

Miss Lang was the fourth woman to whom Fisher has 
been married; and this fact was the cause of a very 
unpleasant incident. 

Parker had been out in California for nearly thirty 
years ; but last winter he came on East and paid a visit 
to his old home. Among other acquaintances of former 
days he met Mr. Fisher, and Fisher mentioned that he 
was sorry his wife was out of town as he would like Parker 
to see her. 

“ And how is she ? ” asked Parker. “ I remember 
her well. Mary Jones she was before you married her. 
Splendid woman ! And how is she anyhow ? ” 

I am sorry to say Mary is dead ; been dead more 
than twenty years.” 

Oh, I beg pardon,” said Parker. “ Excuse me for 
stirring up old griefs. But how is your second wife? 
Fine-looking woman, Pll bet, Fisher ! You were always 


282 


MR. FISHER'S BEREAVEMENTS. 


the awfullest man at falling in love with pretty women I 
ever saw. What is she ? Brunette, I venture to say. Are 
you going to introduce me to her ?” 

It’s not — not a pleasant subject to discuss — but-- but 
— my second wife was laid away in the grave more than 
fifteen years ago.” 

“ You don’t say 1 Oh ! I know, of course— your second 
wife, of course, dead ; I forgot about it: Did I say your 
second wife 1 1 meant your third instead of your second. 

And how is she? Fisher, I must know that woman. 
Introduce me, will you ? Hang me if I don’t stay in town 
until I know her.” 

“ That will be impossible, Mr. Parker. My third wife 
has been an angel ever since 1865.” 

“ Well, now, I declare it’s too bad ; I had no idea — of 
course, I didn’t mean anything. Less see, it’s ten years 
since 1865, ain’t it t Ten, yes. Well, now, old fellow, you’ll 
forgive me for tearing up your feelings that way ; but I’ll 
make it all right by asking how in thunder is your present 
wife — your fifth ? ” 

“Mr. Parker, you are mistaken again. I have no fifth 
wife. I ? 

“ Well, then, your sixth. How is she .? Pardon me, 
old boy, for saying that you have been going it Six wives 
in thirty years, and here I am not married yet Now 
how is Mrs. Fisher No. 6?” 

■ “ Mr. Parker, the lady with whom I live at present is 
my fourth wife. I don’t like the tone in which you speak 
of this subject” 

“Don’t like it! Well, it seems to me, Fisher,' that 
for a man who marries them and buries them as fast 


MR. FISHER 'S BEREA VEMENTS. 283 ' 


as you do, to talk about sensibility upon the subject 
is a little more than ridiculous. I don’t care how your 
wife is, or when you get another one. But if you take 
riiy advice, you will have your undertaking business done 
by contract at wholesale rates.” 

Then Mr. Parker took the earliest through- train for 
California. ^ ■ '' 






•■'A 



Hi'./ ; 'f: ;• ■' 'V'li ■ 




,=• ■ A ;■ 





. !{ O' 



ttf J[bttBr 

WITH 

SOME REFLECTIONS CONCERNING CERTAIN 
MORAL IDIOTS. 



VERYBODY is 
acquainted with 
persons, who^in 
their ordinary- 
conversation, con- 
stantly and as a 
habit violate the 
truth. It is done 
obviously in sheer 
wantonness, when 
there is nothing 
to be gained by, 
it, and when no 
motive is perceptible. One of these persons will begin a 
conversation with a palpable falsehood which does not even 
glorify himself, and which, he must be aware, cannot be 
believed by the person to whom he is talking. That a man 
should lie for purposes of profit, or even with the intent to 


THE ADVENTURES OF ABNER BYNG. 285 


exaggeratehispersonal importance, is perfectly comprehen- 
' sible; but why a person should, as a rule set truth at defiance 
without the smallest provocation, and apparently without 
any sense of shame at the reflection that his mendacity is 
perceived by the listener, is a very difficult question 

The habitual liars not only do this, but if their veracity 
is called in question, or their attention is directed to the 
nature of the obligations imposed by the Ninth Com- 
mandment, they become indignant, and resent the impu- 
tation as hotly as if they had sworn fealty to Truth for 
ever, and were shocked at the impeachment of their 
honour. The better plan usually is to receive the false- 
hoods in silence, for an attempt to refute them will pro- 
bably provoke the invention of a swarm of fortifying fibs. 
A grey-headed old man, while sailing into a certain har- 
bour with the writer, pointed to a mud-dredge, and calmly 
said that the'machine could excavate twenty-five thousand 
cubic yards of mud at one revolution. He had no interest 
in the dredge, neither had his companion He felt the 
impulse to lie at that moment, and the dredge happened 
to cross the range of his vision opportunely. If fie had 
chanced to see a grain elevator or a frigate or a floating 
barrel, it is likely that he would have organized an equally 
picturesque falsehood upon another basis. To argue with 
him would have been more than useless. He would im- 
mediately have libelled the multiplication table by trying 
to prove that four times four are twenty five thousand. 

An officer of the American navy, during the Civil "War, 
wrote home to one of his friends that while his ship was 
passing the forts below New Orleans, a fifteen-inch shell 
exploded among a crowd of eleven persons jn the engine- 


286 THE ADVENTURES OF ABNER BYNG. 


room, and didn’t scratch k man. Another officer, a captain 
in the same navy, used to entertain his shipmates with 
stories about two magnificent but wholly imaginary 
chargers that he had at home. One day he said that he 
had received a letter conveying the painful intelligence 
that the noble steeds were dead. Pretty soon he forgot 
that he had framed that story, and for the remainder 
of the cruise he talked about the horses as if they were 
living, and he even went so far as to buy a handsome 
set of harness for them at the first port of stoppage. 
These are but representatives of the great body of liars 
who live in every community. The latter lie about their 
achievements, their acquaintances, their houses, their 
business, and even their religion. If anybody makes a 
statement in their presence, they cap it instantly with a 
' stronger statement of the same nature. Their ingenuity 
and readiness are astonishing. Their complete oblivious- 
ness of the fact that they utterly contradict to day what 
they said yesterday, is wonderful ; and it is not less sur- 
prising to observe that they will speak in terms of severe 
censure of other persons who are suspected of similar 
practices. 

It is not a little curious to note that this propensity 
very often runs in families. It is, without doubt, some- 
times hereditary, and this fact may tend to explain it upon 
the theory that it is a peculiar form of moral idiocy. It 
is, perhaps, to the mind what colour-blindness is to the 
eye. In the moral and mental constitution of the habitual 
liar there is, as an Irishman would express it, a bump that 
is a hole. The quality which enables ordinary men to 
reverence the truth and to feel the shame of falsehood, is 


THE ADVENTURES OE ABNER B VNG. 2S7 


wanting; and, meanwhile, the imagination has undue 
activity. There is absolute deadness of one faculty, and 
abnormal development of another. There is the intel- 
lectual colour-blindness which is not conscious of the 
difference between blue truth and red falsehood. A great 
many good Christian people will scout this suggestion and 
shake the Ninth Commandment fiercdy at the liars. But 
wise men, who are beginning to appreciate the fact that 
psychology is a science whose shallowest depths have 
hardly been sounded, who comprehend that the imperfect 
constitution of the human mind is the parent of a vast 
amount of crime, and who realize that a man whose soul 
has malformation is not more responsible for its faulty 
action than a man with a misshapen leg is for his awkward 
gait, will accept this theory readily. The monumental liar 
always excites derision and scorn. Perhaps he ought to 
excite pity. The very frequency of his occurrence in ordi- 
nary society is a testimony to the fact that he is the victim 
of a somewhat common malady, rather than a deliberate 
and malicious sinner. 

Whether Abner Byng was a mere wanton enemy of 
the truth, or only a moral idiot, perhaps cannot be deter- 
mined; but he has a clear right to rank high as an 
organizer of magnificent and sweeping falsehoods. He 
has been a sailor, and when he begins to talk about his 
voyages he draws the long bow with a vigorous hand. 

“ You see,” said Abner, one day to a little company 
whom he had met at the hotel in our county town, after 
the adjournment of the Court — “you see I was once a 
sailor before the mast, on a vessel which was cruising 
about in the South Atlantic Ocean. 


288 THE ADVENTURES OF ABNER BYNG. 


“ She was a very small vessel, and so frail that I was , 
afraid all the time she would go to pieces ; but she didn’t. 

It happened one day that I was sent aloft to nail a 
block of some kind on the top of the mainmast, and as 
we had no hatchet I took an axe. I hit the mast three 
or four pretty stiff knocks, when all of a sudden I thought 
I felt the mast go down with a jerk. But it looked all 
right, and 1 thought it couldn’t possibly be. So I came 
down and said nothing about it 

“ Three or four days afterwards the mate said to the 
captain : 

‘‘ ‘ Cap., it’s queer we don’t sight land by this time.’ 

“‘Very queer,’ said the captain. 

‘ And what’s more funny about it is that for several 
days past my instruments have made us out to be in pre- 
cisely the same latitude and longitude.’ 

“ ‘ Maybe something’s the matter with the sun.’ 

“ ‘ Or perhaps the parallels of latitude have shifted.’ 

“ ‘ Or you may have made a mistake in your figures.’ 

“ ‘ I didn’t think of that,’ said the mate. 

“So they took another observation, and found that 
they were in precisely the same place. Everybody was 
frightened, and it was not until after a close examination 
that it was at last ascertained that I had actually driven 
that mainmast through the bottom of the ship into the 
mud, where it had stuck fast, and the old tub had been 
spinning round and round, like a weather-cock on a 
steeple, all this time, without anybody knowing it 

“To say that the captain was mad, don’t describe his 
condition. He roared around so about it, that I got scared 
and hid myself in an old cask in the hold. There I lay 


THE ADVENTURES UF ABNER BYNG. 289 


all day, when it was decided to heave part of the cargo 
overboard, to lighten ship, and the cask I was in was headed 
up, and the whole concern was -tossed intCKthe water. 

“ I was in that barrel about four days. It was a little 
crowded, to be sure, and it would roll some, but on the 
whole it was comfortable. One day I felt myself tossed 
on shore, and then I was so certain of saving my life, that 
I turned over and took a^ood nap. 

“I was waked by something tickling my face. At first 
I thought it was a mosquito, but then I remembered that 
no mosquito could have got into the barrel. I brushed 
at it again, and caught it. It was a straw. I gave it a^ 
jerk. Something knocked against the barrel outside, and 
I heard the word : 

“'Thunder!’ 

“ Then another straw was inserted, and I pulled it 
still harder ; I heard this exclamation : 

“‘Thun-der-r-r-r I’ 

“ Still another straw came through the bung-hole, and 
as I caught it, I saw there was a man outside trying to 
suck something through the straw ; and whenever I pulled 
it it knocked his nose against the barrel. So I gave it 
one more pull, and then, kicking the head out of the cask, 
I introduced myself to him. 

“ He was a Dutchman named Schuyler, and he told 
me, in his native tongue, which I spoke with difficulty, — 
that I had come ashore in Dutch Guiana. He was a good 
sort of fellow. I went up home with him, and was intro- 
duced to his wife and his three daughters. 

“ The latter were splendid girls ; but t^y were so 
much alike, that I could never tell one from the other. I 

19 


1 


1 



Kicking the head out of the cask, I introduced myself.” — 289. 




THE ADVENTURES OF ABNER BYNG. 291 


fell in love with one of them — >I never could tell which, and 
I courted them just as they happened to come along. 

'' “ One day they all came into the drawing-room toge- 
ther. They were furious. They said 1 had promised each 
of them to marry her, and each repeated the fond words I 
had whispered to her, and accused me of treachery. 

“It looked stormy for me. To conciliate them, I 
offered to marry them all, and to take them to Salt Lake ; 
or to cut myself in three pieces ; or to drown myself with 
them and perish in four watery graves. 

• -Respectfully and firmly declined. 

“ Then they all went out. After a while one came in 
and said : 

“ ' Abner, dear, let us elope together, and leave these 
horrid women, and go to some sunny'Clime, where we can 
be happy in the fulness oC each other’s love.’ 

“ ‘ I will think it over, my angel,’ said I . 

“ She passed out. Then one of them came in again. 

“‘Abner, dear, let us fly together, and leave these 
horrid women, and go to some sunny clime, where we 
can be happy in the fulness of each other’s love.’ 

“ ‘ I say, I will think it over, my own angel’ 

“ And she disappeared. But she seemed anxious, so 
in she came again 

“ ‘ Abner, dear, let us fly together, and leave these 
horrid women, and go to some sunny clime, where we can 
be happy in the fulness of each other’s love.’ 

“ ‘ You’ve said that three times, and that’s enough. My 
mind fully grasps the idea. I say I’ll think it over.’ 

“ ‘ Why, I never said it before,’ says she. 

“ * You didn’t ? ’ I exclaimed. 


292 THE AD VEN TURES OF ABNER B YNG. 


“ ‘ Certainly not ! ’ ' 

“ I saw it all. Each of them had approached me with 
the same proposition. It was clear that I must fly. I 
made up my mind to take the first boat that left Dutch 
Guiana for anywheres. 

“ That night I walked to town, and shipped on a 
barque that had just loaded a cargo of mahogany for 
Liverpool, ahd next morning I was at sea. 

“ I have been subject all my life to cataleptic fits, 
during which I seem to be dead. On the tenth day out, 
one of these fits attacked me, and the doctor, after feeling 
my pulse, said I was a corpse. 

“ They determined to bury me. Contrary to custom 
at sea, they made me a substantial coffin out of mahogany 
boards ; and as they were rather short of nails, they tied 
the lid on with pieces of marlin^twine. A hundred-pound 
shot was fastened to the foot of the coffin, and the Epis- 
copal service was read over the body. Then the word was 
given, and the whole concern was launched into the sea. 

“ All this time there I had been lying, unable to move 
hand or foot, or to speak, but I was conscious, and I had 
heard all that went on around me, and even followed every 
sentence of the Burial Service. 

“You can imagine the frightful agony I endured. The 
plunge into the cold water, however, revived me, and 1 
recovered the use of my faculties only in time to find 
myself going down to the bottom of the ocean at the rate 
of about one mile a minute. The water was just two 
miles in depth, and before I could budge, I had struck 
bottom. Fortunately they had buried me in my sailor 
clothes, "hnd I had a jack-knife with me. I instantly 


THE ADVENTURES OF ABNER BYNG. 295 



drew it, slipped the blade in the crack between the lid 
and the coffin, cut the marlin-twine, severed the rope that 
held the shot, clutched the sides of my narrow apartment, 
and began to ascend with frightful velocity. 

“When 1 reached the surface the impetus gained, 
threw the coffin three feet into the air, and it came down 
right side up, with me lying in it snug and comfortable, 
only I was a little wet and hungry. I had been 
under water precisely 
five minutes, and I 
couldn’t possibly have 
held my breath a se- 
cond longer, so it was 
lucky the sea was not 
deeper just there. I 
must have . drifted 
somewhat for the ves- 
sel was just visible 
on the horizon. The 
velocity of the ocean 
currents will account 
for this. 

“ While coming up, 
the end of the coffin 
struck against a large 
fish, stunning it so, 
that I secured it with- 
out difficulty when I got to the top, and despatched it 
with a knife. I tied it to the coffin with a piece of 
the marlin-twine, and as I floated along day aft^r 
day I cut steaks off the fish to support my life. It 


294 'THE ADVENTURES OF ABNER BYNG. 


was fortunate that I was buried in a coffin, as I must 
inevitably have been drowned otherwise. I was lucky, also, 
in capturing the fish, or I would have starved to death. 

“ Well, I sailed along nicely enough for about a week, 
only I began to get tiredffif such close quarters, when one 
day I ran against an iceberg of the most enormous dimen- 
sions. I immediately clambered upon it, dragged the 
coffin up after me, and sat down to consider what I had 
better do next. 

“An idea struck me ; I would explore the iceberg, which 
was about five miles long, and, in some places at least, half 
a mile high. So I pulled the fish from the water, or rather 
the remains of the fish, and, taking two of the largest bones, 

I made myself 
an excellent 
f)air of skates, 
which I tied 
to my feet with 
marlin-twine. I 
found that I 
could get along 
very rapidly with 
these, and at 
once I started 
upon a tour. 

“I hadn’t gone 
more than a mile 
and a half, when 
I stumbled over 
the dead body of a sailor, with a fishing rod and line 
in his hand. The man, evidently, had come off of his 



THE ADVENTURES OF ABNER BVNG. 295 


ship to catch some fish, and had been lost and frozen tc 
death. 

“ I took the rod and line from him, together with one 
or two articles of clothing, and proceeded to return to my 
coffinr After lighting a fire with some splinters of the 
coffin, and cooking some of the fish I already had, I con- 
cluded to go a- fishing. Baiting the hook, I fluhg it over- 
board. I got a few nibbles at first, but directly I felt a ^ 
good bite, and I pulled up. It was an ordinary herring. 
Before I got it fairly out of the water, a fifty-pound sea- 
bass leaped up and swallowed it 

‘ ‘ All right,’ thought I, ‘ I’d rather have you anyway,’ 
and I hauled in on it 

“ Strange to say, I hadn’t more than got the sea bass’s 
ta‘l out, than a sturgeon appeared and took it down at a gulp. 

‘ Still better,’ thought I, as I kept on reeling in my 
line. B^t I was destined to further annoyance ; no sooner 
had I got the sturgeon pretty well up, than the biggest 
shark I ever saw, stuck his nose out and took the sturgeon 
down without chewing him. 

Very extraordinary, upon my word,’ thought I, as I 
still pulled my line in. But hardly had I comprehended 
the situation, when a whale swam up, and seeing the 
shark swallowed it. 

“ I was pleased ; any man would be under such circum- 
stances. I tied the line to a huge icicle, and so held the 
whale fast. The whale died that night from indigestion, 
and I, drawing the other fish from him, began to enjoy 
myself as well as I could. 

" The days were very short, and I experienced much 
annoyance from the continual darkness, until another ide« 


296 THE AD VENTURES OF ABNER B VNG. 


struck me. I took the dead sailor’s shirt, tore it into 
narrow strips, ran the strips through the bamboo fishing 
pole, and stuck the pole into the fattest portion of the 
whale that floated alongside. I then lit the end of the strip 
that protruded from the bamboo, and produced a most 
brilliant light. The rays were reflected from the whole 
iceberg, and the glare was so intense that the sea was 
lighted up for miles, and I was compelled to look away 
from the ice to avoid going blind ; but my left eye was, 
nevertheless, somewhat injured. 

“ Thus I lived for nearly a month, until one day I hap- 
pened to observe a piece of wood sticking out of the wall 
of ice beside me. I grasped it and tried to move it, but 
without success. While I was working at it, the iceberg 
chanced to run aground, and it split into pieces with a 
noise hke the firing of a million cannon. I felt the ice 
giving way beneath my feet, ^d I grasped the piece of 
wood and hung on. As the berg fell to pieces, I found 
that I had hold of the bowsprit of a ship which had been 
embedded in the ice, but which was now floating, as good 
as ever, in the ocean. 

“To clamber down and get on the deck was the work 
of an instant. And there I found the captain and crew 
all frozen to death. 

“ It was lucky that I Tound this ship, or I would cer- 
tainly have been drowned when the iceberg went to pieces. 
There were twenty dead men on the vessel, and after 
having twenty funerals, I set to work to load the craft 
- with the pieces of ice which floated around me. Having 
secured a full cargo, I set sail, and proceeded due south, to 
hunt for a market for the ice. 


THE ADVENTIJRES OF ABNER BYNG. 297 


On the third day, I was chased by a pirate, and 
having no artillery on board, and with such a small crew, 
too, I took a barrel of gunpowder, stuck a half-hour fuse 
in the bunghole, lighted the fuse, and flung the barrel over- 
board, right in the track of his vessel. The pirate struck 
the barrel, there was an explosion, and the pursuer was 
blown to atoms. Only one man was picked up, and I 
made him one of my crew'. 

But the man mutinied, and I 
formed myself into a court- 
martial, brought the man 
before me, tried him, found 
him guilty, and then the 
court took the crew out and 
hung him at the yard-arm. 

“ At the end of a month, 1 
ran into the harbour of one 
of the Fejee Islands, and, just as I dropped anchor, a canoe 
put off from shore and came alongside. It contained the 
chief of the tribe which inhabited the island. I gave him 
a salute of twenty-one guns, with an old blunderbuss which^ 
I found on board, and received him, hat in hand, as he 
came over the gangway. 

“‘How are you, sir.?’ said I to the chief; ‘I hope 
you’re well. I just dropped around to see if you should 
be wanting any ice. I’ve got a fine cargo here, which 
I’m selling' off at reduced rates.’ 

“ There was yellow fever in the island, and ice was the 
very thing the chief wanted worse than anything else. So 
I cleared my cargo out at an immense bargain, and went 
ashore with the chief. 



298 THE AD VENTURES OF ABNER B YNG. 


“ When the people heard I had brought them a whole 
ship-load of ice, they went frantic with joy. A public 
reception was tendered me, and I was voted a national 
benefactor. The people rehearsed my praises all over the 
island, and a grand mass-meeting was held, at which I 
was proclaimed Prime Minister of the country, and second 
only in authority to the chief who had come off to see me. 
I left the vessel at anchor in the harbour, accepted the 
office, and lived there for four years and eight months, 
enjoying myself hugely, and amassing great wealth. 

“ The {People were cannibals, but I could never entirely 
overcome my aversion to man-meat, and, one day when 
they had roast missionary on the table at a public ban- 
quet, I refused to touch a morsel, and left the room in 
disgust. This enraged the fickle mob, and I was arrested, 
tried, and condemned to be broiled to death on the" state 
gridiron. On the appointed day, a huge fire was built in 
the square of the city, and, when it had burned to coals. 



the immense gridiron was placed upon it, and I was 
stripped and carefully laid upon the gridiron. 


“ I bore, the inexpressible torture for a time, but after 
while, making an excuse that I wanted to turn over, 1 


THE ADVENTURES OF ABNER BYNG. 299 



leaped up, seized the gridiron, and bravely attacking the 
crowd, killed two hundred of them with the hot gridiron, 
and put the rest to flight. 

“ About three hundred of the more timid savages, in 
an agony of terror, swam 
out, in the harbour, and 
secreted themselves in the 
hold of my ship. 1 also 
sought refuge there, and, 
finding my enemies in the 
vessel I fastened down 
the hatches, weighed an- 
chor, and sailed out to sea 
before the people on shore could recover from their alarm. 

‘‘ 1 hadn’t proceeded more than twenty miles before I 


observed three shipwrecked sailors floating on a hen-coop. 
I picked them up, and, strange to say, they were my two 
brothers and my nephew, whom I had not seen for twelve 
years . Of course, the meeting was affecting beyond ex- 
pression, all four of us melting into tears, and sobbing as 
if our "hearts would break. Now that I had a crew, I had 
no trouble in navigating the ship, so I sailed for Cuba, 
where I sold the three hundred natives in the hold for 
slaves, at one thousand dollars a-piece, and then I set sail 
for Philadelphia, and got home just in time to receive the 
dying embrace of my mother, who very naturally had 
mourned for me as dead for ten years.” 

When Abner Byng finished this recital, he cleared his 
throat, called for a mug of ale, drank it, lighted the stump 
of a cigar, and said : — 

Some men lie about their adventures, but that always 


Joo THE ADVENTURES OF ABNER BYNG. 


seemed to me to be wrong. When I deviate from the truth 
a half-an-inch, I want somebody to kick me — to kick me 
hard.” 

Then slowly uprose Thomas Dundas, a farm'er who 
had been on the petit jury that day. Coming near to 
Abner, he gave him a fearful kick, which moved him a 
dozen feet or more toward the door. 

At first Abner seemed indignant ; he appeared to be 
eager for war. But when he had eyed Dundas for a 
moment, a smile stole gently over his face, and he said : — 

“ Squire, you’re the quickest man to take a hint that I 
ever come across.” 

And then Abner Byng adjourned. 



o 




. l[nhfrlitksr. 



ERE is a certain oddity 
about the fact that when 
death overtakes a hu- 
man being, man under- 
takes him. It is equally 
odd that while to every 
mind the word “under- 
taker” suggests one 
who is eager to “talk of 
graves, and worms, and 
epitaphs,” the diction- 
aries define an under- 
taker as “ one who 
under takes,” making no reference to his claim to be con- 
sidered purely as a funereal functionary. Precisely why 
this personage, of all those who engage in undertakings, 
should be. distinguished as the undertaker, has been a 
puzzle to many ; but the explanation probably may be 
found in the primary signification of the word“undei-. 
take,” which is, of course, to take tender^ the duty of Uie 



302 MR. TOOMBS, THE UNDERTAKER. 


undertaker being to perform that service for those who 
are ready for the grave. 

Mr. Samuel Toombs, the leading undertaker of the 
village of which I write, had originally been a physician 
in a town of Iowa, but he was compelled to leave the 
place because of a difficulty that he had with some of his 
patients. 

The doctor, it seeins, had a large tank placed on the 
top of his house, from which to supply his bath-room, and 
so forth, with water. The water had to be pumped up / 
about fifty feet from the cistern in the yard, and the doc- 
tor found it to be a pretty good-sized job, which would 
cause him constant expense. So, after thinking the matter 
over very carefully, one day . an idea struck him. He built 
a room over the cistern, and put the word “ Sanitarium ” 
over the door. Then he concealed the pump machinery 
beneaiti the floor, and he rigged up a kind of complicated 
apparatus, with handles, and hinges, and a crank, so that 
a man, by standing in the middle of the machine and 
pulling the handle up and down, would operate the pump. 

Then the doctor got out circulars 'and published ad- 
vertisements about “ Toombs’s Patent Health-Lift,” and he 
secured testimonials from a thousand or so people, who 
agreed that the Health-Lift was the only hope for the 
physical salvation of the human race. Pretty soon people 
began to call to see about it, and Toombs would rush 
them out to the “ Sanitarium,” and set them to jerk- 
ing the handles. And when a customer had pumped up 
fifty gallons or so, Toombs would charge him a fee, and 
tell him that three months of that sort of thing would 
give him muscles like a prize-fighter. 


MR, TOOMBS, THE UNDERTAKER, 303 


He would push the project among his patients. If a 
man was bilious, or had the toothache, or was afflicted 
with rheumatism, or croup, or yellow fever, or cholera 
morbus, Toombs would turn him at the Health-Lift, and 
get a fee each time. The thing became so popular that 
he had to enlarge his tank, and put in a smaller pump ; 
and he not only got all his pumping done for nothing, but 
the people who did it paid him about fifteen hundred 
dollars a year for the privilege. It began to look like an 
uncommonly good thing, and everybody was contented 
and happy. 

One day, however, old Mr. Maginnis, who had been 
practising at the Health-Lift every day for months, in 
order to cure himself of indigestion, jammed the handles 
down a little too hard, and broke the board upon which 
he was standing. As the board gave way, it plunged Mr. 
Maginnis into the cistern, and just as he was sinking for 
the third time, Toombs fished him out with a crooked 
nail in the end of a clothes-prop. As soon as the water 
was drained out of him, Maginnis said : 

didn’t know you had a cistern under that floor. 
What did you do that for ? ” 

“ Why, to keep the air moist. It is healthier than dry 
air.” 

“It looked to me as if there was some kind of a 
pump under there.” 

“ Oh, no ; those are only the levers of the Lift.” 

“ Mighty queer,” said Maginnis, thoughtfully. “ If 
that isn’t a pump, then I don’t know one when I see it.” 

So a few days later Maginnis came around with a lot 
of other patients, and found the doctor out. They deter- 



MR, TOOMBS, THE UNDERTAKER, 305 


mined to investigate. They pulled up a couple of boards, 
and ascertained the facts about the pump. Then they 
cross-examined Toombs’ servant-girl, and learned about 
the truth, and then they went home mad. A consultation 
was held, at which every bilious and rheumatic individual, 
who had been working the doctor’s pump, used violent 
- language, and talked about murder and sudden death. 
Finally they resolved to prosecute Toombs for damages, 
and for obtaining money under false pretences. 

Toombs concluded to fly, in order to save trouble ; so 
he came east, and finding that there was less risk and 
more money in burying people than in slaying them, he 
resolved to begin business as an undertaker. 

He has had some curious and interesting experiences, 
and not the least curious was that afforded by the cele- 
brated Cadwallader case. 

In the town there are two families of Cadwalladers, 
and at one time the head of each was named Henry. 

One Henry was a store-keeper, and the other was a 
butcher, and neither was related in any way to the other. 
About the middle of June, the butcher died rather sud- 
denly ; but somehow the impression got out around town 
that it was the other Henry. Late one evening a waggon 
drove-up in front of the living Cadwallader’s house, and a 
man rung the bell. Cadwallader was in bed. He arose, 
opened the window, and shouted : 

« Who’s there.?” 

“ I ; Toombs !” 

“ Toombs ! Who’s Toombs .? What d’you want ? ” 

“ Why, I’ve just run around with a load of ice for the 

old man. Let me in, so’s I can fix him.” 

20 


3o6 MR. TOOMBS, THE UNDERTAKER. 


** Dunno what you mean. Nobody around here wants 
fixing with ice. We’re temperance people.” 

“ No, no ; I’m the undertaker. I have brought it 
around to pack the deceased man in. Hurry up, sonny. 
I want to get done and go home.” 

“ What deceased man ? ” 

“ Why, Cadwallader. Don’t you know, if he isn’t laid 
in ice, he won’t keep ; arid that will afflict his family like 
thunder.” 

“ I guess you’ve struck the wrong house.” 

“ Isn’t this Henry Cadwallader’s place?” 

^ “Yes.” 

“ Well, then, he’s my man. I’ve got a coffin in here 
that’ll fit him like a glove, after we’ve frozen him up a while. 
Le’ me in’s quick as you can, and I’ll show you the silver- 
plated handles and the mahogany trimmings of the coffin. 
A duke don’t want anything more gorgeous than they are.” 

While Toombs was speaking, another man came up 
and rang the bell, and Cadwallader asked him what 
wanted. 

“Want to see Mrs. Cadwallader about the tomb- 
stone.’’ 

“ Tombstone ! This is getting solemn. What tomb- 
stone?” . ^ 

“ Old Cadwallader’s. Mr. Mix sent me round to ask 
whether he should cut the name ‘ Henry Cadwallader ’ in 
a straight line or a curve, and whether she wants to put 
on the stone a broken rosebud or a torch upside down. 
You tell the widow to take my advice, and go in on the 
rosebud and the straight line. It’s cheaper, and ’twon’t 
make any difference to the deceased.” 


MR. TOOMBS, THE UNDERTAKER. 307 


“ I’ll mention it to her. When is the tombstone to be 
done ? ” 

“ Wednesday, right after the funeral. Weighs about 
a ton. Mix says Mrs. Cadwallader probably wanted it 
heavy, so’s to be sure it would hold Henry down. He 
will have his fun.” 

During the conversation, and while Mr. Toombs was 
removing his funeral appliances from the waggon, a third 
man arrived. He asked for Mrs. Cadwallader. 

“ What do you want ? ” asked Mr. C. 

“ How’s the widow takin’ it ? Hard ? ” he asked. 

“ Not so very.” 

“Well, you tell her, for me, not to go on, about it. 
Plenty of fish in the sea ’s good as any ever caught. Tell 
her the company’s all right. It’ll pay her in full, and 
then she can get on her feet again.” 

“ What company do you mean ? ” 

Why, the Hopelessly Mutual. I’m Benjamin P. 
Gunn, the insurance agent. Took his risk in January. 
Thought maybe the widow might be suffering from grief, 
and I’d call to cheer her up. I’m coming to the funeral and 
Dl see that Henry’s stowedawayas snug as a bug in a rug.” 

Cadwallader came down and explained the matter, 
and got things straightened out a little. On the day of 
the dead Henry’s funeral he thought he would go to it, in 
order to ascertain how it felt to attend the obsequies of 
Henry Cadwallader. It turned out that some of the live 
Henry’s friends, who didn't know where he lived, were at 
the house of th : dead man, thinking that it was the store- 
keeper’s funeral. When the latter came in, Mr. Jones 
met him, and said to him : 


3 o 8 MR. TOOMBS, THE UNDERTAKER. 


“ Heaven and earth, Cadwallader ! how d’ you get out 
of that coffin ? ” 

“ I never was in it.” 

“ What ! IVe been crying like a baby about you, in 
the parlour there. Not dead! Now, see here, Cad- 
wallader ; this is not the square thing ! Blame me if I 
haven’t wasted an enormous amount of sacred emotion 
over you, and now you go back on me. Is that treating 
a man right ? ” 

‘‘ I dunno. Seems to me so.” 

“ Well, hang me if it seems so to me. If you advertise 
that you are 
going to be 
buried, why in 
the name of 
decency don’t 
you stand by 
your Contract 
like a man ?” 

“ Let me ex- 
plain ’’ 

“No, sir ; no 
apologies. This 
finishes you. as 
far as I am con- 
cerned. When I die, I die. I don’t invite my friends 
to see me interred, get them to cry, and then come 
shuffling around with some shabby excuse about not being 
dead 1 I’d rather pick a man’s pocket at once than 
trample on his feelings that way ! ’’ 

And as Mr . J ones shouldered his umbrella and marched 



MR, TOOMBS, THE UNDERTAKER. 


off home, Cadwallader went also, a little gloomy because 
he felt that if he had been a thoroughly conscientious 
man, who understood his duty to society, he would be a 
corpse. He talked of applying to the^legislature at the 
next session for permission to change his name. 

Mr. Toombs is a single man ; but he came very near 
once to marriage — or,' at least, he thought so. It appears 
that Mr. Bungay, the real estate agent, some years ago 
suspected that Mrs. Bungay didn’t care as much for him 
as she ought to. , So one day he went up to the city, after 
leaving word that he would be gone two or three da^^s. 
While there, he arranged with a friend to send a telegram 
to his wife at a certain hour announcing that he had been 
run over on the railroad and killed. Then Bungay came 
home, and slipping into the house unperceived, he 
secreted himself in the closet in the sitting-room to await 
the arrival of the telegram, and to see how Mrs. Bungay 
took it. After a while it came, and he saw the servant-girl 
give it to his wife. She opened it, and as she read it, she 
gave one little start. Then Bungay saw a smile gradually 
overspread her features. She rang for the girl, and when 
the servant came. Mrs. Bungay saic^to her : 

“ Mary,^Mr. Bungay’s been killed. I’ve just got the 
news. I reckon I’ll have to put on black for him, though 
I hate to give up my new bonnet for mourning. You just 
go round to the milliner’s and ask her to fetch me up 
some of the latest styles of widow’s bonnets, and tie a 
bunch of crape on the door, and then bring the undertaker 
here.” 

While Mrs. Bungay was waiting she smiled continually, 
and once or twice she danced around the room and stood 


310 MR. TOOMBS, THE UNDERTAKER. 

in front of the looking-glass, and Bungay heard hex 
murmur to herself ; 

“ I ain’t such a bad-looking woman, either. I wonder 
what Lemuel will think of me ? ” 

“ Lemuel ! ” thought Bungay, as his widow took her'' 
seat and sang softly, as if she felt particularly happy. 
“ Who’s Lemuel She certainly can’t mean that infamous 
old undertaker, Toombs ! His name’s Lemuel, and he’s 
single ; but it’s preposterous to suppose that she cares 
for him, or is going to prowl after a husband so quick as 
this.” 

While he brooded in horror over the thought, Mr. 
Toombs arrived. The widow said : 

“ Mr. Toombs, Bungay, is dead ; run over by a loco- 
motive.” 

“Very sorry to hear it, madam; I sympathize with 
you in your affliction.” 

“Thank you} it is pretty sad. But I don’t worry 
much. Bungay was a poor sort of a man to get along with, 
and now that he’s gone I am going to stand it .without 
crying my eyes out. W e’ll have to bury him, I s’pose, 
though 1 ” 

“ That is the usual thing to do in such cases.” 

“ Well, I want you to ’tend to it for me. T reckon the 
coroner’ll have 'to sit on him first. But when they get 
through, if you’ll just collect the pieces and pack him into 
a coffin, I’ll be obliged.” 

“ Certainly, Mrs. Bungay. When do you want the 
funeral to occur ” 

“ Oh, ’most any day. Perhaps the sooner the better, 
so’s we can have it over. I don’t want to spend mugh 


J/y?. TOOMBS, THE UNDERTAKER. 


3” 


money on it, Mr Toombs. Rig him up some kind of a 
cheap coffin, and bury him with as little fuss as possible, 
ni come along with a couple of friends; and we’ll walk. 
No carriages. Times are too hard.” 

“ I will attend to it.” 

‘‘And, Mr. Toombs, there is another matter. Mr. 
Bungay’s life was insured for about twenty thousand 
dollars, and I want to get it as soon as possible, and when 
I get it I shall think of marrying again.” 

“ Indeed, madam ! ” 

“ Yes ; and can you think of anybody who’ll suit me.” 

“ I dunno. I might. Twenty thousand you say he 
left.?” 

“Twenty thousand; yes. Now, Mr. Toombs, you’ll 
think me bold, but I only tell the honest truth when I say 
that I prefer a man who is about middle-age, and in some 
business connected with cemeteries.” 

“ How would an undertaker suit you?” 

“ I think very well, if I could find one. I often told 
Bungay that I wished he was an undertaker.” 

“ Well, Mrs. Bungay, it’s a little sudden ; I haven’t 
thought much about it ; and Bungay’s hardly got fairly 
settled in the world of the hereafter ; but business is busi- 
ness, and if you must have an undertaker to love you and 
look aftei^ that life insurance money, it appears to me that 
I am just about that kind of a man. Will you take me ? ” 

“ Oh, Lemuel ! fold me to your bosom ! ” 

Lemuel was just about to fold her, when Bungay, white 
with rage burst from the closet, and exclaimed : 

“ Unhand her, villain ! Touch that woman, and you 
die ! Leave this house at once, or I’ll brain you with the 


0) 


312 MR. TOOMBS, THE UNDERTAKER. 


poker ! And as for you, Mrs. Bungay, you can pack up 
your duds and quit. I’ve done with you. I -.know now 
that you are a cold-hearted, faithless, abominable \\Tetch ! 
Go, and go at once I I did this to try you, and my eyes 
are opened.” 

“ I know you did, and I concluded to pay you in your 
own coin.” 



“ That’s absurd ; it won’t hold water.” 

“ It’s true, anyhow. You told Mr. Magill you were 


going to do it, and he told me ” 

“ He did, hey ? I’ll knock the head off of him.” 

“ When you are really dead I will be a good deal more 
sorry provided you don’t make such a fool of yourself 
while you’re alive.” 


MR. TOOMBS, THE UNDERTAKER. 313 

“You will? You will really be sorry I” 

“ Of course ! ” 

“And you won’t marry Toombs? Where is that man 
Toombs? By George, I’ll go for him now! He was 
mighty hungry for that life insurance money ! I’ll step 
around and kick him at once while I’m mad. We’ll talk 

I 

this matter over when I come back.” 

Then Bungay left to call upon Toombs, and when he 
returned he dropped the subject. He has drawn up his 
will so that his wife is cutoff wdth a shilling if she employs 
Toombs as the undertaker, and Toombs is still a lonely 
bachelor. 




bs l^tlmar’s jthu$niitr$. 



R. RICHARD SMITH and Mr. Arthur 
Gibbs were guests at a large party given 
at the house of Judge Campbell in the town 
of Wington. When the evening was half 
gone, they were standing at the upper end 
of the drawing-room, talking and watching the 
moving throng beyond them, when Smith sud- 
denly exclaimed : 

“ Who is that insignificant-looking little woman over 
there ? She has a throng of men about her ; but they 
certainly can’t be attracted by her beauty. She is the 
plainest woman in the room ! ” . ' 

“Don’t you know her.?” said Gibbs. ‘‘Why, she is 
the famous Wington heroine ! ” 

“ Indeed ! A heroine, eh ? Well, I confess my ignor- 
ance. Really, I was not aware that this prosy place 
boasted a heroine.” ' 

“ Well, then, you have to hear a story of endurance 


MISS WILMER'S ADVENTURE, 


315 


and fortitude which, when you look upon that slight figure, 
seems really incredible.” 

“ I am ready to have the tale unfolded, my lad, when- 
ever you are disposed to oblige me.” 

^ So the two young men sauntered out to the 
library, and, throwing themselves into easy-chairs, Gibbs 
began : 

“ You must know, in the first place, that my heroine 
has held that position just about six years. She came 
here half-a-dozen years ago from New England in 
response to a call from the gentlemen who manage the 
common schools of this county. She was a teacher by 
profession, and her name was Susan Wilmer.” 

“ ‘‘Susan’ is very mild for a genuine heroine ! ” 

* i 

“ She was placed in charge of a certain little red 
schoohhouse, away out yonder among the hills, near to 
ithat small collection of buildings called Maysville.” 

“ I’ve been there,” said Smith. “ Two houses — a store 
and a blacksmith’s shop.” 

“ Well, she took the school, and she laboured there 
for many months trying to teach the young ideas how to 
shoot, from very poor soil, I imagine, judging from the 
specimens I have seen of her pupils. But nobody in town 
cared whether §he was successful or not. She did . not 
live in the village, because of the distance, but had taken 
board at the only respectable farm-house in the neigh- 
bourhood, about a mile and-a-half over the mountain. 
So her arrival did not excite any very great remark, in 
the usually excitable village of Wington, excepting, per- 
haps, when she came into church the first Sunday after 
her arrival, when, of course, all the girls in the building 


3i6 


MISS .VILMER'S ADVENTURE. 


A 

looked her over as she walked up the aisle, and went 
through the customary mental arithmetic to determine 
the cost of her clothing.” 

“ That had to be done, of course,” remarked Smith. 

“ But she was plainly dressed, and the young ladies 
not having had their envy excited, as usual, indulged 
their contempt for the new comer. Nobody welcomed 
her, spoke to her, or showed by any sign that they recog- 
nized her presence ; and I may say, that during the whole 
of the first six months of her stay here, she was never 
invited to a house in the town, or asked to indulge in any 
of the amusements for which Wington is famous, all the 
year round. She never made a friend or even an 
acquaintance, among the people. It was a dull and 
dreary life enough, I think, and I doubt not some of the 
kinder-hearted among the elder ladies of the town would 
gladly have shown ' her some attention ; but although 
polite when addressed, she was reserved and diffident in 
her manner, and not easily approached.” 

“But you don’t seem to be getting on toward the 
heroics,” said Smith. 

“The farmer with whom she boarded,” continued 
Gibbs, “ had a son, who ” 

“ O, I see ! ” exclaimed Smith. “ The' farmer’s son is 
sick ; she nurses him ; a tender passion developes ; he 
marries her out of gratitude; the regular thing, you 
' low ! ” 

“ Not by any means. This youn^ man was employed 
as an amanuensis by a gentleman named Wylie, who 
lived on the adjoining estate and was very wealthy. 
Wylie was a man of thirty-five years, a widower, with one 


MISS WILMER'S adventure!^ 317 

little girl of six or seven summers. He was a first-rate 
fellow, liked and respected by everybody throughout this 
whole region. Wylie wanted to have his little girl 
instructed in the rudiments of education; and, living 
alone, he could not very well have a governess in. the 
house" So, upon the recommendation of his secretary, 
he concluded to have the child attend the red school- 
house, where Miss Wilmer taught. It was his custom to 
send the child in his carriage, and at the time of dis- 
missing the scholars to have his man in waiting to convey 
Miss Wilmer and her pupil to their respective homes. 
Well, this arrangement was satisfactory' to all parties, and 
during the summer months everything went on smoothly, 
and without any cause for complaint on either side. The 
child learned rapidly, and conducted herself with abofit' 
the average propriety. On the ist or 2nd day of 
November of that year, the school was dismissed at 
about four o’clock in the afternoon, but Wylie’s man 
not having arrived with the carriage, Miss Wilmer 
sat with her solitary scholar in the school-room, to wait 
for him. - ' 

“ An hour passed, and it began to grow dark, and yet 
the carriage did not come. The man had gone to town, 
and was detained by a broken axle. Miss Wilmer con- 
cluded not to wait any longer, but to attempt to walk 
home, thinking she could reach the farm-house before it 
was dark, and then have the child sent over to her father’s 
place by one of the men of the family. 

“You know how suddenly night comes on among 
these mountains .? When the sun has set, the darkness 
hurries in upon us with a speed of which people who live 


31 3 ' M/SS WILMER^S ADVENTURE. 

in a level country have scarcely any conception. Well, 
Miss Wilmer and the child, had scarcely gone a third oi 
the distance, before it was as black as pitch, and the 
heavens were so obscured by huge banks of clouds, that 
not even the faint twinkle of a star served to light up 
their path, darkened as it was, too, by the network of 
overhanging branches of trees, which moaned, and 
rustled, and creaked in the wind. But the road was 
an easy one, and Miss Wilmer was so thoroughly familiar 
with it, that she strode along with confidence, rather 
regretting that she had undertaken the task, but deter- 
mined to persevere, despite the fearful cries of the child, 
whom she strove to reassure with words of comfort and 
encouragement 

“ The road wound directly around the mountain, at a 
considerable inclination. On one side rose the" rocks 
covered with stones, grey moss, and ferns, intermingled 
with tangled bushes and vines, and strewn with decaying 
leaves, while a Tew oaks and evergreens grew from the 
side, and leaned over the road as if they were trying to 
peer into the valley below them. On the other side the 
mountain descended at a considerable declivity, and was 
covered with trees, huge boulders, and a heavy under- 
growth, excepting where, here and there, the bald rock 
reached down perpendicularly into some chasm, formed 
centuries ago, when the tired earth, weary with the throes 
of her pristine convulsions, yawned with her granite lips, 
and left them unclosed for ever.” 

“ ‘ Yawned with her granite lips,’ is good,” observed 
Mr. Smith. 

“ Along this path, then, Mis3 Wilmer went, trying to 


MISS WILMER'S adventure. 


3^9 

keep close in to the mountain’s side, and to avoid all 
possibility of making a misstep over the opposite edge of 
the road. Once she came to a tree which was prostrated 
upon the hill above her, and which hung with its branches 
over the way. She ran' against these in the darkness, 
and, drawing back, attempted to go around the obstacle. 
She had hold of the child’s hand, and her grasp 
instinctively tightened as she felt the little one slip away 
from her, and bring her whole weight suddenly to bear on 
that one arm.' The child gave a piercing scream as she 
fell, and by the flutter of her white clothing below in the 
darkness, Miss Wilmer saw that she was. on the edge of 
one of the most frightful precipices upon the mountmn. _ 
“ To grasp the child’s arm with her other hand was the 
first movemcnt,and with all her strength she endeavoured to 
lift her up and place her *on the road. But the woman’s 
fright had partially unnerved her, and robbed her of much 
of her little strength, and to her dismay, she found herself 
wholly unable to accomplish her purpose. She perceived 
with the intuition of desperation, that her only hope 
of supporting the child, existed in her lying flat upon the 
ground. This she did, and holding on by one of the 
arms, she gradually worked her other hand up to the 
body, and caught hold of the dress. But would this bear 
the weight ? it certainly did not lessen the danger that 
her strained fingers would gradually lose their power, and 
relax, so that their precious burden would be dashed to 
pieces in those black and shuddering depths below. 
Those were the days, you remember, when women and 
girls wore hoop-skirts. With a desperate effort Miss 
Wilmer clutched the steel springs of the child’s skirt, and 


I 


A//SS WILMEKS ADVENTURE, 


♦aking the four lower springs in her hand, she twisted her 
\rm into them so that they formed a loop around her 
vrist, and then, feeling that her hold was secure, she 
dropped the arm of the insensible child, and, tearing off 
Qer hood, with her spare hand she bound the strings as 
well as she could round the wrists of both hands, and 
between the steel springs of the skirt, so that it could not 
possibly slip off, the larger part of the weight bearing upon 
the right arm. 

“ The pain was terrible beyond expression. The sharp 
steel edges of the springs, dragged down by the weight of 
their burden, cut into her flesh like knife-blades. The 
arm* was almost torn from its socket, and the tense 
muscles seemed to be slowly tearing to pieces with the 
fierce strain upon them. But the brave girl did not flinch. 
She lay there with both arms hanging over the edge of 
the rock, in patient agony waiting for that help which she 
knew might not come for hours. Indeed, she "felt that 
anyone might drive over her prostrate body in the dark- 
ness, without her being able to scream or to utter a cry 
for help. 

“ All kinds of thoughts whirled through her brain — 
fearful, ludicrous, and sorrowful. She thought of her 
school, and of the children gathering there to-morrow, and 
missing her, and wondering why she did not come ; and 
she herself wondered if they would be sorry to learn that 
she was dead ; and if they would forget her, when another 
teacher came. And then came a flood of recollections of 
the scenes which had occurred there ; of the little 
peculiarities of each of the scholars, their queer sayings, 
and laughable answers-to her questions, and of the times 


MISS WILMER'S ADVENTURE. 


321 

when she had punished them. What would they do with 
her body when she was found ? Suppose she should be 
buried while not yet dead ! Horrible thought ! Would 
any of the town people go to the funeral } Would any- 
body be sorry she was gone, and shed tears over her ? 
Bitterly and sadly, she could not think of one who 
would. 

“ You know, the old story of the manner in which a 
drowning man, in the few seconds of time which elapse 
between the consciousness of the approach of death and 
insensibility, reviews his whole life in the intense and 
awful energy of his mind, compelled by despain I 
believe this to be the case in every instance where a 
person is placed unexpectedly in imminent .peril of his 
life. The mind never forgets anything. The individual 
may lose all command over the memory, and be incapable 
by any effort, of summoning up recollection of circum- 
stances or facts, but they- are there, and may be called’up 
at any time accidentally. And so, before Miss Wilmer’s 
mental vision, in that supreme hour, passed in review the 
events of her life' with almost microscopic exactness. 
Her childhood, and its happiness, her early womanhood, 
and its trials, and the disappointments, the joys, the hopes 
of her later years — all came up before her, and with them 
was a certain assurance that this was to be the end of 
all ; that she was to die in this place. These, and a 
million other thoughts, flashed across the seemingly 
infinite space of her mind, as she lay there, and then her 
fancies grew wilder and became confused, and brilliant 
colours danced before her and she fell into a swoon. 

“As the evening wore on, and Miss Wilmer failed to 
2 ^ 


322 


MISS WILMER^S ADVENTURE. 


return, the farmer with whom she lived, became some- 
what uneasy, and walked over to Wylie’s place to ascer 
tain if she had gone there with her charge. Wylie was 
surprised and alarmed when the farmer announced his 
errand, but, as the carriage had not returned, he concluded 
to wait for a while, thinking perhaps they had gone to 
town in the vehicle and were detained. After walking 
about uneasily for half an hour, he determined to go down 
the road to the schoolhouse to satisfy himself that no evil 
had befallen them. Each taking a lantern, he, the farmer 
and his son, proceeded out toward the mountain. Each 
of them had an indefinable fear that some^ accident had 
happened, and as they walked silently ^long the winding 
road they scrutinized every part of it closely with the 
flickering light of their lanterns. 

“ In a short time, Wylie’s secretary caught a glimpse of 
something white lying in the road ; hurrying toward it, 
he perceived it to be 2 ^ woman’s dress, and a moment 
more disclosed'Miss Wilmer lying at full length upon the 
edge of the declivity. The first thought thaf flashed 
through the- minds of all was, that she had been mur- 
dered ; but Wylie almost instantly discovered his child, 
and, with a cry of horror, sprang forward to rescue her 
from her peril. His blood ran cold within his veins, as, 
eagerly seizing her, he looked down into the unfathomable 
darkness of that abyss, rendered more appalling by the 
obscurity in which its terrors were involved. To tear 
away the iron from the brave arms which it had bruised 
and tom, was the work of an instant, and Wylie, forgett- 
ing the insensibility of the noble woman at his feet, 
lifted his child in his arms, and caressed it with inex- 


MISS WILMER^S ADVENTURE. 


323 


pressible tenderness, while the farmer and his son 
leaned over Miss Wilmer’s prostrate form, and, after 
binding up the wounds upon the bleeding arm, endea- 
voured to restore her to consciousness. 

“ It now became apparent that a vehicle must be pro- 
cured to convey the sufferers to their homes, and Wylie’s 
secretary went back to obtain one. In the meantime, 
Wylie succeeded in restoring the sensibility of his child, 
and she began to cry with fright and bewilderment, but, 
"overcome by fatigue, she soon fell asleep upon her 
father’s shoulder, and he then began to realize the 
heroism of the brave woman who lay before him. He 
had not thought that delicate, shy little creature capable 
of such presence of mind and such fortitude, and he 
began to wonder why he had never before perceived in 
her the elements pf greatness. He had scarcely done 
more than notice her heretofore, but now he saw that 
he had been, as other men often are, worshipping 
heroism afar off, while here it was, in its purest and best 
form, at his very door. . — 

“ When the carriage came, Miss Wilmer was lifted 
tenderly and placed in it, and the whole party returned to 
their homes. All that night Miss Wilmer remained insen- 
sible, and when at last she woke to partial consciousness, 
she became wildly delirious, and raved about the child, 
the precipice, and the frightful death which ever seemed 
impending before her. For three days the fever raged 
within her, with not a gleam of returning reason, and it 
seemed doubtful, indeed, if the dimmed spark of life would 
not go out entirely. At length, however, the crisis passed, 
and she came out of the delirium, prostrated in body and 


324 


M/SS WILMER^S ADVENTURE, 


mind, scarcely comprehending her situation, or remem- 
bering the accident in which she had borne so valiant a 
part. 

“You may be sure Wylie did not forget her, and 
it was not only a sentiment of sincere gratitude that drew 
him to the house, two and three times every day. He had 
been thinking about her heroic deed, and he began to 
comprehend that a woman can possess higher, and better, 
and more enduring qualities than personal beauty, de- 
sirable as that may be. And so he called at the farmer^s 
frequently, and the room of the sufferer was filled with 
the fragrance of the flowers that he brought, and her table 
was covered with innumerable dainties and delicacies pur- 
chased by him. 

“ Miss Wilmer knew from whom all these came, but she 
was too feeble to do more than simply. feel grateful to the 
giver. But after a while, when she became strong enough 
to be carried downstairs, with that wrenched and hurt 
arm bound to her side, Wylie found it convenient to drop 
in very often and sit by her, and to converse in his 
pleasant, affable way. She was shy of him at first, 
overawed by a sense of his importance and social 
superiority. But nothing could long withstand his 
kind sociability, and Miss Wilmer soon found herself 
looking forward to his visits with positive pleasure, and 
, before she entirely recovered she was, I think, in love 
with him. 

“But you know the rest. You knowhow it always 
urns out, under such circumstances. Very soon it was 
announced that Miss Wilmer was engaged to be married 
to Mr. Wylie. The town people had all heard of her 


MISS WILMER^S ADVENTURE. 


325 


adventure, and of her brave conduct, and she was praised 
warmly for what she had done. But the shrewdest village 
gossip was hardly prepared for this result. Nobody had 
dreamed that Wylie would marry the poor little school 
teacher, even if she had saved his daughter’s life. There 
were plenty of girls who had been making a dead set at 
the rich widower for years, and these, with their managing 
mammas, gave vent to their bitter disappointment in the 
customary way, by pretending to sneer at his bad taste, 
and by saying all the hard things they dared of Miss 
Wilmer. 

“ But this was behind her back. That fine old 
patriarch Job, when he recovered his lost property, you 
remember, was loaded down with presents by friends who 
had forgotten him in his adversity, and so now everybody 
was obsequious to Miss Wilmer, and those who had ne- 
glected her and cut her when she had no expectations, 
suddenly discovered that she was a remarkable young 
woman, and would prove a valuable acquisition to the ^ 
select circle. Miss Wilmer understood the precise value 
^ of this adulation, and declining all invitations frdm the 
‘ best ’ as well as the second best people, busied herself 
preparing for the wedding. 

^‘On the appointed day the ceremony was performed in 
the church, in the presence of an admiring, jealous, ex- 
cited crowd of ladies from the whole country round. That 
evening Wylie gave a tremendous reception at his house, 
at which everybody was present, and. he clearly demon- 
strated that he was the happiest man in the country. 
This is the anniversary of that wedding, and the enter- - 
tainment is given in their honour. Mrs. Wylie bears 


326 


MISS WILMER'S ADVENTURE. 


upon her arm the indelible marks of the suffering she 
endured upon the night of that terrible adventure, and 
if you will come downstairs, I will introduce you to her, 
and you will observe that she will offer you her left hand ; 
and that’s the whole story of the adventure of Miss 
Wilmer, the Wington heroine.” 


1 











ENOCH MOHOAirS SONS’ 



0 LBAH 3 

WINDOWS, 
MARBLi;, 

NlYHSb 

POEISHHS 
TIN-WA , 
iBON,STEEL.<fe<y. 



Ca-IE&^lTDa SCiTr.AJREl .AJNTD TTIPIilG-iarr IP'i.AJisTOS. 

The demands now made by an educated musical public are so 
exacting, that very few piano-forte manufacturers can producerinstru- 
ments that will stand the test which merit requires. 

SoHAiER & Co., as manufacturers, rank among this chosen few, 
who are acknowledged to be makers of standard instruments. In 
these days when many manufacturers urge the low price of their 
wares, rather than their superior quality, as an inducement to- pur- 
chase, it may not be amiss to suggest that, in a piano, quality and 
price are too inseparably joined, to expect the one without the other. 

Every piano ought to be judged as to’the quality of its tone, its 
touch, and its workmanship; if any one of these is wanting in excel- 
lence, however good the others may be, the instrument will be imper- 
fect. It is the combination of all these qualities in the highest degree 
that constitutes the perfect piano, hnd it is such a combination, as has 
given the SOHiVSEB its honorable position with the trade and public. 

Pricesasreasonableasconsistent 
with the Highest Standard. 

!49to!55East!41iiSt.,fa 




THE BEST 



EVER !E^VF.MTED« 


No Ladjr, or 

Single*, M-.ch or Pco-'a 
, Housekeeping orBoa..vd“ 
ing, will be without *it 
after testing it;5 utility,”. 

Sold hy first-clasG 
^yrocers, but bewai’3 
, worthless iin-ViaCioiis;. 



KEYSTOI^E ORGAN. “S".! 

from $175 to $125. Acclimatized case. Anti-Shoddy and Anti-Monopoly. Kot all case, 
stops, top and advertisement. Warranted for 6 years. Has the Excelsior IS-Stop 
Combination, embracing : Diapason, Flute, Melodia-Forte, Violina, Aeolina, Viola, 
ITliite-Forte, Celeste, Dulcet, Echo, Melodia, Celestina, Octave Coupler, Tremelo, 
Sub-Cass, Cello, Grand-Orgran Air Brake, Grand-Orgran Swell. Two Enee- 
Stops. This is a "Walnut case, with Music Balcony, Sliding Desk, Side Handles, &c. 
Dimensions : Height, 75 inches; Length, 48 inches; Depth, 21 inches. This 5-Octavc 
Organ, Avith Stool, Book and Music, wo Avill box and deliA'er at dock in New York, fer 
$125. Send by express, prepaid, check, or registered letter to 


DICKINSON & CO., Pianos and Organs, 

19 West Ilth street, New York. 


L 


LOVELL’S LIBKARY ADVERTISER. 


RECENTLY PUBLISHED: 

UNDERQROUND RUSSIA; 

Revolutionary Profiles and Sketches from Life. 

By STEPNIAK, formerly Editor of “ Zemlia i Volia” (Land and 
Liberty). With a Preface by PETER LAVROFF. Translated 
from the Italian, 1 vol, 12mo., paper cover, Lovell’s Library, 
No. 173 .price 20 cents, 

‘•The book is as yet unique in literature; it is a priceless contribution to 
our knowledge of Rnsaian thought and feeling; as a true and faithful reflection 
of certain aspects of, perhaps, the most tremendous politicial movement in 
history, it seems destined to become a standard work.”— Athenaeum. 


An Outline of the History of Ireland, 

From the Earliest Times to the present day. 

By JUSTIN H. McCARTHY. 1 voL 12mo., LovelPs Library 
No. 115, price 10 cents. 

“A timely and exceedingly vigorous and interesting little volume. The hook 
IS worthy of attentive perusal, and will be all the more interesting because it 
I nvolyes in its production the warm sympathies, the passionate enthusiasm, and 
the vivid ‘iniliancy of style which one is glad to welcome from the sou of the 
distinguished journalist and author.”— Christian World. 

‘‘All Irishmen who love their country, and all candid Englishmen, ought to 
welcome Mr. Justin H. McCarthy’s Utile volume — ‘An Outline of Irish History.’ 
Those who want to know how it has come about that, as John Stuart Mill long, 
ago pointed out, all cries for the remedy of specific Irish grievances are now 
merged in the dangerous demand for nationality, will do well to read Mr. 
McCarthy's little book. It is eloquently written, and carries us from the earlie.'-t 
legends to the autumn of 1882. The charm of the style and the impetuousness 
in the flow of the narrative are refreshing and stimulating, and, as regards his- 
toric impartiality, Mr.McCarthy is far more just than is Mr.Froude.”- Graphic. 

‘‘A brightly written and intelligent account of the leading events in Irish 

annals Mr. McCarthy has performed a diflicult task with commendable 

good spirit and impartiality.”— W hitehall Review. 

‘To those who enjoy exceptionally brilliant and vigorous writing, as well 
as to those who desire to post themselves up in the Irish question, we cordially 
recommend Mr, McCarthy’s little book.”— Evening News. 

ENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS. 

Edited by JOHN MOELBT. 

Published in 12mo. vols., paper covers, price 10 cents each. 

Thackeray. By A. Trollope. 
Burke. By John Morley. • 
Bunyan. By J. a. Froude. 

Pope. By Leslie Stephen. 

Byron. By Professor Nichol. 
CowpER. By Qoldwin Smith. 
Locke. By Professor Fowler. 
Wordsworth. By F.W. H. Myers. 
Milton. By Mark Pattison. 
Southey, By Professor Dowden. 
Chaucer. By Prof. A. W. Ward, 


Johnson By Leslie Stephen. 

Scott. By R H Hutton. 

Gibbon. By J C. Morison. 

Shelley. By J. A. Symonds. 

Hume. By Prof Huxley, P.R.S. 
Goldsmith. By William Black. 
Defoe. By W. Minto. 

Burns. By Principal Shairp. 
Spenser, By the Very Rev. the Dean 
of St. Paul’s. 


New York : JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 


Laughter Literature. 

12mo, price, in paper, 50 cents, in cloth, $1.00. 

THE SPOOPENDYKB PAPERS, by Stanley Huntley, of 
the BrooTclyn Eagle. 

A book of domestic scenes, between a nervous, petulent husband 
and a patient, unsophisticated wife. The irritable. Spoopendyke 
and his meek spo'cse are most amusing creations. 

PIKE COUNTY FOLKS, by E. H. Mott, of the N. Y. Sun, 
illustrated by F. Opper, of Pibck. 

Trulhful Talks in uncontrollable language — irresistibly funny. 

JETS AND FLASHES, by Henry Clay Lukens (Erratic En- 
rique), the “ New York News’ Man,” illustrated by Rene Bache. 

“A more acceptable or timely work by a native manufacturer of 
broad grins can hardly be found.” — Y. Y. Star. 

FAMOUS FUNNY FELLOWS, by Will M. Clemens, illustrated 
with portraits of notable humorists. 

Brief biographical sketches of American humorists, with extracts 
from their funniest inspirations. 

GRANDFATHER LICKSHINGLE, AND OTHER 
SKETCHES, by R. W.Criswell, of the Gincinnati Enquirer, 
profusely illustrated. 

A quaint literary creation. 

WIDOW BEDOTT PAPERS, by Mrs. Frances M. Whitcher, 
originally contributed to Neal’s Saturday Gazette. 

THE CHOICE WORKS OP THOMAS HOOD, in Prose 
and Verse, including the cream of the Comic Annuals, with 200 
illustrations. 

MRS. CAUDLE’S CURTAIN LECTURES, by Douglas 
Jerrold, editor of Punch. 

Mrs. Margaret Caudle’s inimitable night lectures, delivered during 

. a period of thirty years, to her sulky husband. Job Caudle. 


New York: JfiVLN W. CO., 14 & 16 Vesey St. 


LOVELL’S LIBRARY-CATALOGUE. 


113. More Words About the Bible, 

by Rev. Jas. S. Bush 20 

114, Monsieur Lecoq, Gaboriau Pt. I. .20 

Monsieur Lecoq, Pt. IT 20 

11.5, An Outline of Irish History, by 
Justin H. McCarthy 10 

116. TheLerouge Case, by Gaboriau. .20 

117. Paul Clifford, by Lord Lytton. . .20 

118. > ANewLease of Life, by About. .20 

119. Bourbon Lilies 20 

120. Other People's Money, Gaboriau. 20 

121. The Lady of Lyons, Lytton... 10 

122. Ameline deBourg, 15 

123. A Sea Queen, by W. Russell 20 

124. The Ladies Lindores, by Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

125. Haunted Hearts, by Simpson... .10 

126. Loys, Lord Beresrord, by The 

Duchess. .20 

127. Under Two Flags, Ouida, Pt. I, . 15 

Under Two Flags, Pt, II 15 

128. Money, by Lord l..ytton 10 

129. In Peril of His Life, by Gaboriau.20 

130. India, by Max Miiller 20 

131. Jets and Flashes 20 

132. Moonshine and Marguerites, by 

The Duchess 10 

133. Mr. Scarborough’s Family, by 

Anthony Trollope, Parti 15 

Mr. Scarborough's Family, Pt 11.15 

134. Arden, by A. Mary F. Robinson.l5 
135* The Tower of Percemout.. ....20 

136. Yolande, by Wm. Black ..20^ 

137. Cruel London, by Joseph Hatton.20 

138. The Gilded Cl’qne, by Gaborlau.20 

139. I k' County Folks, B. H. Mott. ,20 

140. Cricket on the Hearth 10 

141. Henry Esmond, by Thackeray.. 20 

142. Strange A dventures/Of a Phae- 

ton, by Wm. Black ,20 

143. Denis Duval, by Thackeray 10 

144. Old Curiosity Snop, Dickens, Pt 1.15 
Old Curiosity 8hop,Part II. . . .15 

145. Ivanhoe, by Scott, Parti 15 

Ivanhoe, by Scott, Part II 15 

146. White Wings, by Wm. Black.. 20 

147. The Sketch Book, by Irving 20 

148. Catherine, by W. UT. Thaokeray.lO 

149. Janet’s Repentance, by Eliot 10 

160. Barnaby Rudge, Dickens, Pt I. . 15 

Barnaby Rudge, Part II. ....... 15 

151. Felix Holt, b/ George Eliot.... 20 

152. Richelieu, by Lord Lytton 10 

153. Sunrise, by Wm. Black, Part I. .15 
Sunrise, by Wm. Black. Part 11.15 

154. Tour of the World in 80 Days.. 20 

155. Mystery of Orcival, Gaboriau. . . .20 

150. Lovel, the Widower, by W. M. 

Thackeray 10 

157. Romantic Adventures of a Milk- 

maid, by Thomas Hardy 10 

158. David Copparfield, Dickens, Pt 1.20 

David Copperfield, Part IT 20 

160. Rienzl, by Lord Lytton, Part I. .15 
Rienzi, by Lord Lytton, Part II. 15 

161. Promise of Marriage^ Gaboriau.. 10 

162. Faith and Unfaith, by The 

Duchess 20 


163. 

164. 
1C5. 
166. 

167. 

168. 

169. 

170. 

171. 

172. 

173. 

174. 

175 

176 

177. 

178. 

179. 

180. 
181. 
182. 

183. 

184. 

185. 


186. 

187. 

188. 

189. 

190. 

191. 

192. 

193. 

194. 

195. 

196. 

197. 

198. 

199. 


200 . 

201 . 


202 . 

203. 

204. 

205. 

206. 

207. 

208. 


The Happy Man, by Lover... 10 
Barry Lyndon, by Thackeray, ...20 

Eyre’s Acquittal 10 

Twenty Thousand Leagues Un- 
der the Sea, by Jules Verne 20 

Anti-Slavery Days, by James 

Freeman Clarke 20 

Beauty’s Daughters, by The 

Duchess ...20 

Beyond the Snnrise 20 

Hard Times, by Charles Dicken6.20 
Tom Cringle’s Leg, by M. Scott.. 20 
Vanity Fair, by W.M.Thackeray.20 
Underground Russia, Stepniak..20 
Middlemarch, by ElUot, Pt I... .20 

Middlemarch, Part II . . . . , 20 

Sir Tom, by Mrs. Oliphant 20 

Pelham, by Lord Lytton.... . ..20 

The Story of Ida 10 

Madcap Violet, by Wm. Black.. 20 

The Little Pilgrim 10 

Kilmeny, by Wm. Black. ..20 

Whist, or Bumblepuppy? 10 

The Beautiful Wretch. Black. ...20 
Her Mother’s Sin, by B. M. Clay. 20 
Green Pastures and Piccadilly, 

by Wm. Black 20 

The Mysterious Island,by Jules * 

Verne, Part I . ,15 

The Mysterious Island, Part II . , 15 
The Mysterious Island, Part III. 15 
Tom Brown at Oxford, Part I. . .15 
Tdm Brown at Oxfprd, Part II. .15 
Thicker than Water, by J. Payn.2J 
In Silk Attire, by Wm. Black. . .20 
Scottish Chiefs, Jane Porter,Pt.I.20 

Scottish Chiefs, Part II 20 

WilJy'Reilly, by Will Carleton..20 
The Nautz Family, by Shelley .20 
Great- Expectations, by Dickens.t'O 
Pendennis.by Thackeray, Part 1,20 
Pendenni8,bj T hackeray,Part Ii.20 

Widow Bedotr Papers 20 

Daniel Deronda.Geo Eliot, Pt. I.xO 

Daniel Deronda, Part II 20 

AltioraPeto, by Oliphant 20 

By the Gate of the Sea, by David 

Christie Murray.; 15 

Tales of a Traveller, by Irving. . .20 
Life and Voyages of Columbus, 
by Washington Irving, Part I. .20 
Life and Voyages of Columbus, 

• by Washington Irving, Part 11.20 

The Pilgrim’s Progresi 20 

Martin Chuzzlewit, by Charles 

Dickens, Part 1 20 

Martin Chuzzlewit, Part II. .... . 20 

Theophrastus Such, Geo. Eliot.. .20 
Disarmed, M. Bethara-Edward8..15 
Eugene Aram, by Lord Lytton. 20 
The Spanish Gypsy and' Other 

Poems, by George Eliot 20 

Cast Up by the Sea, Baker 20 

Mill on the Floss, Eliot . P£. I. . . 15 

Mill oh the Floss, Part II 16 

Brother Jacob, and Mr. Gilfil’s t 
Love Story, by George Eliot. . . 10 
Wrecks in the Sea of Life.'. 20 



GRAND, SQUARE AND UPRIGHT 

PIANOS. 



Superior to all others in Tone, Durability arn^ Workmanship ; 
have tlis endorsement of the leadingr Artists. First Medal of 
Mem and Diploma of Honor at Centennial Exhibition. 

Muatoal authorities and oritios prefer the SOHMER PIANOS, 
and they are purchased by those possessing refined musiosd taste 
and appreciating the richest quality of tone auid highest perfection 
genersUly in a Pisuto. 

SOHMER & CO., 

UAStvTACTxmwau or 

Sraud, Square and Upriglit Pianos, 

J4S to 165 EAST 14th SL. NEW YORK. 






m 


I/. 


r 





4 ' . •\ J • ( *. -J . ' ,♦ 


;%: 

;y. .'^ 

♦ , % ' • « » 

•■ I 





s» • • 


'^- T - > •■ . . 
nJ. " 

.•v I #* • 


‘m . . ' 

'# * 

.•V ) ^ 

'$1:^1 


• 

» 










* « 


I 


i\ >■ 


• *• > * . ’' 'ir ^ 'A 

- . . » , . *» # , 




'1 V- 


A -111 ■ ^ 


V 




> I 


I I 


f,: 


a • I 


•i 




. *, 

- r i 


’ I 


• t 


f 9 

^ 5 i;< 


»i-. 


’ti \\ 


<» ” 


\ 


-i - ■. . 



1 ^ ► 



\ a 




• -v 

I 


I • 


^ •/ 


* I fc. -a 


' .i 



- . . f V^'^r 

■, * ' J » *'■ i ,=* , ^ ■• ..‘g';:; 

r ' •■ '* *'''f**t* '. |.. '. .- 

■'x. '■• • ^ %V'‘ '^’'' IBM ‘i 








» 


f 

* A 


4 \ ' < 






I 


fjll 





1 


« 


. » 



» ( 


' ( 




k 


# 



« 

-% • 






1 







.* i • 

'i - 4 




Ji- ' ' / 

« ^ 

*%/ ■ 


« 

• » 



■ • 

' • 


V 


V 


I 






p 


I 


.> 


r 


• U 


\ 


I 


4 


i, 


♦ 



A 


mi 




*- 


« 



4 


' • ^ 


4 


i 

4 


• I 

f 




. 4 • •• ' 

% 

I 

/ 


\ 


V 


I « 

* 

t 

f 4 


» 

% ^ 

- f 


1 r 

-* . • » 

>1 

I t 

• t 

■ ' 4 t* 



m 


f 




i • 




« 



•<v- 

j. ^ 






1 





\ 


t 


» -X • 






> 



% 




Pi.. . . • 


I 

% 


♦ 

» 



, « 






4 


/ 



I 




\ 



/ 

• N i 



4 

s 


> 


. ' 


w. 





t 

• • 


\ 


I 



1 





' s r .}'■ < ;.i 


•'’ * i I '' 

^V'' • 


Ti'y: ' 

y ■• 


'.0 r 


»4 

* 

1 


S-: 

4 


ir ’ri 

* t 

•4 


I I 






Jy 4 • ' 


; 77 f,J 


V ;^;f 


S' * 


r. • 


■’ . %:■ 


I^- 


Is. 


■ ‘*j" ' '• 




' f 


i> 


1 ' I 


iWmX 


:^ 
*. V, 


w 


» 4 


w 


. J *» /vV 


t) 

■ \ 

t 




I « 


4 ■’*' 

I < « * 



f 


■ '"'h •, 

• VW 4 V. 

4 j ' 

f. 9 .i * 


r * 


» I. 


O' 4 







•( • 


4 ' 


i 


'H 


■ ■ Ik 


h' 






I 


r t 


i.i ' • 

I 


‘ ^ ' .r*? 


«4 


I > 


/ - 
' t 




•Z V 


I »i 


r r 




»/■ 


I « 


• 'V 

'J/ .1 


L'' ■' ' f #■ ' •■ s&sip 

n •' • ‘'A'j l*^ ’ ■ O' * 

i- : 

Hi '/ * ♦ • ‘ ; * . » ' ' -V 





t 


r 

'• . \ 

* ' 

i, 

'^'•r.S 

4 

• /, 

f 

« 


•; A-’.w;?,' ■ 

4 . L 





^ 't ‘ 


’'i •- 

i ~ 4 • 


*.'* -1 - » * j J' 4 

^L felrii^v.- 


iv-, " 

• 4 

> •* 







“ vV^ -i'r- ' 


^ ‘ »t .v.VsV 



’A* 


[. 


' ' * ' s 


^ M* 

• 1 


‘!T^ 


K»m 


• » 1 

'•V' - 

V ^ 

J ' t 

’oi;' 




w 

f ■ . 

1 

'/'r- 


>c 

. « 


jr-'-ifi! 


A* • * f •• -!. • 

> , . , > !?■ ' 


V. 


-k'., . 


rr- 









'‘^WTrTVf 


wSmJm 


n 

i^n 


V' 

V< 




Mm:^k 





